









^ y V /V 

^ (j o ^ < mt ‘* 

♦ 




y-y «*& * 


o V 



^° ^ . 

O. ‘••’•’V° V'*.TT| 

’ •«- 'V .0* ,*v > ^ 

• *f> a v * ^rfS'/T^ 4" 


4 


A *> V- ^ A *1 

o vT. k 









* & 

„ * V- ^ . IS ^ ^ -CL V r 

.. ** A <V A 

_A • w # • - ,< ^av Or c 0 m 0 + 

n * j&iiff/T?- . a % <5xX x A\n'\ 


z. •»• 




4 O 

° -a? %<v 

.' J? , 

\ * • « ° 0 v?> 

<■- > v • * * ®» cv . 

't- ^ .’.aV/io ’v A 


-S \T 

* V> ^ • 

^ ♦■a 

■f ° %, ' * * 5 ‘ 


r « » * 

^ '• • * * 

v. c° ;°o 



>v 







^£a <* 

c o r':^".’- o-’ ^ '•.;. 

. V A % *> 



/ <!> 

A" * ° * ° 0 v$ 

/,'■-'* *>- V s o 





. *r .r .r.^lr ** A 




<xy \l. ^ 

S & *' .\ ** 

C 0 " ° * ^O 

o 

<p 



u* ^ 


r oV 


v -C* '<’•** A° 

v-cr 


cr - ° 



C 

* 

o 

« 



- <3^5> 

- <0 

o y 


'/ o° *+ <*> 

* * * ■» * a 0 <$> *0*0° <y 

> «0 V *’V> *> V **\?* 'CV 

A * Cyji^S * ^ \\ * K 

^ A « ^Slili^. ,- * $ y o 

S vP 





* A ^ 

* ks & « <?» v <£► •V^ITWi* * * 

<, . *« (? o 5 s A 

■v o< - 


° <*5 ^ 

' k 

o* A 



W 4 "t> 


o V 



♦ ' X - •> 


o ^ZW 1 *** o 7 7 

: ^ 
; £ 

j v "O *'77. ’ A <A '■>•>* A 

v* 0 4 




*■ 7» * 

<** * ^ " 0 

o * 

c\ A v V V v A *4' c* 

A ♦ #_SSfa&fc * A ♦ A nw Ai ° 

v^ v 

^ ^7 • 

-* <1 V 7~t* ^ . 

a. <. '<r.'»* .0 \5 '-Tl.* A 

K 7. r^ ..-*. % .A . 

«T «■ 



7<7 .* 



V 1 9 


t ^ C° °o -i^ 1 


7* A X ° 



cv 



o V 

^ V 

O w O ' <fr y o * » , «. * f 0 ^ 

> O' A * •, c> <0 V VA. > 



1 f 

rv> . * • 

^ ' -aVa'”. 7, .^' 








5 ^ 





0 







\ 




THE WOUNDED FOOT. Page 24. 


Out of the Fire. 



<y 


BY 



MARY DWINELL CHELLIS, 

#1 

AUTHOR OF “DEACON SIM’S PRAYERS,” “OLD SUNAPEE,” “THE 
TEMPERANCE DOCTOR,” ETC. ETC. 





NEW YORK: 

National Temperance Society and Publication House f 

% 

172 William Street. 

1809 . 


Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by 

J. N . STEARNS, 

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court for the Eastern District of New York. 


Rockwell & Rollins, Printers and Stercotypers, 
122 Washington Street, Boston. 


Out of the Fire. 




I. 


“ Woman’s grief and woman’s sighs 
Going up to Heaven; 

God of mercy hear her sighs, 

Heal each spirit riven; 

By thine all-prevailing might 
Break the gloom of sorrow’s night.” 

A ’Cheery whistle and a light foot-fall 
upon the well-trodden snow-path were the 
only sounds that broke the stillness of the 
winter evening. 

Suddenly even these sounds ceased, and 
Clement Foster stood by Ihe gate which 
barred his progress, and, for a moment, 
seemed lost in thought. Only for a moment, 
when he sprang to the wall, and, resting one 
hand on the tall gate-post, gazed around upon 


3 


4 


OUT OF TIIE FIRE. 

the landscape that lay bathed in moonlight 
splendor. It was a picture of which one 
would not soon weary ; but a light, gleaming 
through the trees, caught the attention of the 
boy, and he resumed his walk. 

" Aunt Bhoda is gone, and no mistake,” he 
said to himself, quickening his pace. Mean- 
while an animated conversation was being 
carried on in Farmer Gray’s kitchen. 

"It did seem as though Aunt Bhoda never 
would get started,” said the farmer’s oldest 
son. 

"I wish father wouldn’t keep her always; 
but I suppose he will,” rejoined Mattie, a 
bright-eyed girl of twelve years. 

" I guess it’s mother keeps her more than 
father,” said Elsie. "You know what she 
told us the other day.” 

" I likes Aunt Bhody. I don’t want her to 
go off,” exclaimed Amos. 

" That’s because yoft’re so small,” replied 
Elsie. " I used to like her till I got old 
enough to sweep, and wash dishes.” 

" 1 guess we all like her well enough now, 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


5 


She is rather particular sometimes ; but we 
are none of us perfect.” 

" It is all very well to say that ; but it 
wi.uld be pleasant to feel a little more at 
liberty in our own kitchen. All the neigh- 
bors say it’s a shame for mother to give up to 
her as she docs.” 

This was the reply of Mattie to her broth- 
er’s conciliatory remark, and plainly showed 
that she had no wish to excuse the faults of 
Aunt Rhoda. 

"I am "lad she has "one for two weeks. I 

O © 

shall roast apples and pop corn every even- 
ing, and have nobody to scold me,” said 
Elsie. "I wish Clem would come. I’m sure 
he must see the light, if the moon does shine. 
There he is ! ” she exclaimed, after ja short 
pause, during which she had strained her 
eyes to catch a glimpse of the expected guest. 

He had just entered and divested himself 
of coat and cap, when the sound of bells was 
heard . 

" There’s Aunt Rhoda back again!” said 
Judson. ff I should know those bells in 


6 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


Greenland. She must have left her pin- 
cushion or knitting-sheath. ” 

O 

At this, Mrs. Gray came into the kitchen, 
welcomed her children’s friend, and awaited 
the arrival of one whose departure had been 
the cause of so much joy. 

” I knew it wasn’t right for me to go, and 
I told Cousin Reuben so, all the time. I saw 
the moon over my left shoulder, and I knew 
something would happen,” said Aunt Rhoda, 
as she pushed back the hood that concealed 
her face. 

f ' What is the trouble? ” asked Mrs. Gray. 

•/ 

" Trouble enough,” was the reply. ”1 for- 
got my knitting-sheath, and you know I can’t 
knit a stitch without it. I hadn’t more than 
got up the hill when I remembered it, and 
them stockings of mine must be finished.” 

" Here it s,” said Elsie, holding the de- 
sired aiticle as high as she could reach. 

" Seems to me you’re spryer than common ; 
but you needn’t put it in my eyes.” 

At this moment, Aunt Rhoda glanced 
around the kitchen. There was a basket full 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


7 


of butter-nuts, with hammer and lapstone 
beside it. A bunch of corn depended from a 
hook in the ceiling, and a pan of rosy-cheeked 
apples occupied a conspicuous position upon 
the table. 

" So this is what you’re up to ! I guess 
I’d better stay at home, Miss Gray. Some- 
body ought to look after these children. 
There’ll be no end of grease-spots on the 
floor, and the hearth’ll be spoilt. Guess I’d 
better stay. You never’ll be able to clean 
up after such a muss.” 

" The children are going to clean up,” re- 
plied Mrs. Gray. We shall get along very 
well. You must not lose your visit.” 

" Haint you found your sheath, Rhody?” 
called Reuben. "It is pretty cold waiting 
out here.” 

" I suppose it is cold ; but he might come 
for me before night. I guess I’ll look into 
my room, a minute, and see if everything’s 
right.” 

Elsie carried the candle, anxious to do all 
in her power to shorten the visitation. Satis- 


8 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


lied with the result of the inspection, Aunt 
Rhoda returned to the kitchen, and, Reuben 
again expressing his impatience, she was 
obliged to take her leave. 

" Now the coast is really clear, ” said Jud- 
son. "I will crack the nuts, Clem, while 
you and the girls attend to the corn.” 

It was no modern kitchen in which these 
children were assembled. There was the old- 
fashioned fireplace, which received huge logs 
of birch and maple, giving forth, in return, 
a wondrous glow of light and heat. The 
hearth was of stone, and had been polished 
by constant rubbing, until it formed a fitting 
mirror to reflect the flaming, flashing fire. 

The brick oven found place in the ample 
chimney, and in the opposite side was a deep 
recess, known as the "warm corner.” The 
crane still maintained its position, although 
its office had become almost a sinecure since 
the introduction of a stove into the wash- 
room, where much* of the cooking for the 
family was done. 

This kitchen, in which Farmer Gray had 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


9 


spent a large part of his boyhood, when 
within doors, was the most cheerful room in 
the house, and the children felt themselves 
greatly aggrieved by the somewhat despotic 
rule of Aunt Rhoda. Neither nuts nor corn 
could be brought here without her permis- 
sion ; and, when this was granted, it was ac- 
companied with so many conditions and warn- 
ings as to make it of little value. 

Not a spot or hull escaped her notice, 
while she expressed her horror of " dirt and 
litter” in no measured terms. As for "toast- 
ing apples and having them sputter all over 
the hearth,” such a thing could not be toler- 
ated. 

There had been many threats of rebellion 
among the unwilling subjects, and some 
attempts had been made to throw off the 
yoke ; but these attempts always ended in 
discomfiture and submission. Aunt Rhoda’s 
will was not lightly to be set aside, and Mrs. 
Gray, who had been long an invalid, would 
concede, much rather than insist upon, her 
own authority. 


10 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


■A 


The visit to Cousin Reuben’s had been Ions: 
and anxiously expected ; but it had been de- 
layed for various reasons, until the children 
feared it would never be made. At length, 
greatly to their relief, the day had been 
selected. Lon^ before the usual dinner 
hour, Aunt Rhoda had basket and bundle 
in readiness, and it was but little past noon 
when, arrayed in a new print dress, many- 
hued and brilliant, she seated herself by 
the window to watch and wait. 

She was sitting there when the children 
returned from school, and, at a word from 
her sister, Elsie ran after Clement Foster 
to tell him they must give up their plans 
for the evening. It was a great disappoint- 
ment, and, after a moment’s consideration, 
she added, " Perhaps Aunt Rhoda may go 
yet. You might come over and see.” 

The boy shook his head decidedly. 

" Well, Clem, you come as far as the gate,” 
said Elsie. "If she goes, I’ll put a light in 
the north window, and you can see it from 
there.” 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


11 


Anticipations were fully realized. There 
was nothing to mar the pleasure of the 
merry group. Farmer Gray and his wife 
left the sitting-room, and occupied the old 
arm-chairs in the kitchen. • 

The party was increased by one of the 
neighbor’s coming in with his whole family. 
This necessitated an additional supply of 
nuts and corn, while the room echoed with 
shouts of laughter. 

Ample justice was done to the simple 
entertainment. The older people then dis- 
cussed the news ; the younger told stories, 
and, when tired of that, traced pictures in 
the glowing coals. 

"How long is Rhoda to be gone?” asked 
Mrs. Pease. 

"Two or three weeks,” was the reply. "It 
will defend somewhat upon my health.” 

* " That is a long time for her to stay away 
from you. I began to think she had a prin- 
ciple against leaving you, even for a night. I 
only wonder how you have patience to get 
along with her.” 


12 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


"I should never have strength to get along 

without her. She has taken upon herself the 

hard work of my family, and cared for me in 

sickness as tenderly as a sister.” 

" I know all that, but — ” 

"I understand her peculiarities,” inter- 

rupted Mrs. Gray. ff They are not always 

pleasant ; but her life has not been a pleasant 
* 

one. 

" True,” was the reply. "I ought not to 
forget that, and I am glad any one is willing 
to give her a home.” 

" We do not give her a home, Mrs. Pease. 
Rhoda Smith asks no charity. She earns all 
that she receives. Money can never repay 
her for the weary nights she has watched 
with me and my children.” 

Here the conversation was interrupted, and, 
soon after, the visitors took their leave. Then 
a chapter was read from the old family Bible , 4 
and each young head was bowed as the father 
prayed for the blessing of God to rest upon 
each and all of them. 

It was to a far different home from this that 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


13 


Aunt Rhoda had gone. Her cousin, Reuben 
Smith, called himself a farmer, but his few 
scantily tilled acres were scarcely worthy the 
name of farm, and he possessed none of the 
thrift belonging to a successful farmer. 

The exterior of the house was far from 
attractive. The snow concealed many de- 
fects, but it only rendered more conspicuous 
the broken windows, repaired with old hats 
and cast-off garments. The path leading to 
the door was narrow and half shovelled, in 
perfect keeping with everything belonging 
to the place. 

" Shiftless ! ” muttered the visitor, as she 
walked up the uneven path. 

A woman was standing at the door to 
welcome her. " Glad to see you, Rhody,” 
she said. " My supper has been waiting 
a long time.” 

An impatient reply rose to the lips of 
Rhoda Smith, as she thought of a whole 
afternoon spent in waiting ; but one glance 
at the worn, haggard face before her moved 

7 CO 

her heart to pity. 


14 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


There had been an effort to £ive a cosy, 
homelike look to the room she entered. A 
cheerful fire was blazing upon the hearth, 
the floor was scrupulously clean, and the few 
articles of furniture were arranged to produce 
the best effect. 

By the time the usual inquiries in regard to 
health had been made and answered, Reuben 
came in from the barn. His wife looked at 
him anxiously for a moment, and then turned 
away with a sigh. 

Not often was such a supper Been in that 
house. A visit from Cousin Rhoda was a rare 
event, and extra preparations had been made. 

"You are not looking well, Samanthy,” 
said the guest, as she seated herself at the 
table. "I guess you need sombody to help 
you and cheer you up.” 

" I dont need any help/’ was the reply ; 
"there aint much to do since Susan died; 
but I get low-spirited staying alone. Reuben 
aint at home much.” 

Reuben cleared his throat and seemed about 
to speak when this was said; then, evidently 




OUT OF THE FIRE. 


15 


changed his mind, and turned again to his 
supper. 

Rhoda then addressed him, inquiring how 
much stock he was keeping. 

"Not much,” he replied. "My hay didn’t 
turn out very well, and I never have any luck 
giving my cattle coarse fodder.” 

" That’s because you don’t cure it well ; 
your corn was left standing too long. But 
you had a nice-looking piece of potatoes ; they 
ought to help out your hay.” 

The speaker knew perfectly well about the 
potatoes. They had not been taken from the 
ground until many of them were frozen. Her 
only object in mentioning them was to oblige 
her cousin to make a humiliating confession, 
which she hoped he would remember. 

"I had a sick spell last fall, and was late 
getting them in ; so they didn’t turn out so 
well as I expected.” 

This was said in a deprecating tone, as 
though claiming sympathy ; but none was of- 
fered. Nothing connected with his business 
ever did turn out so well as he expected ; 


16 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


yet others were never disappointed in the 
result. Idleness and neglect received their 
due reward. 

After supper the indispensable knitting- 
sheath was produced, and Rhoda’s fingers 
kept time with her tongue. At first the host 
joined feebly in the conversation, but, dis- 
comfited by two or three sharp remarks, 
calculated to lessen his self-esteem, he took 
refuge in silence. 

The time had been when Samantha Bean 
looked down upon Rhoda Smith, and thought 
herself much the more fortunate of the two. 
That time had gone by, and she was now dis- 
posed to envy her who, with strong heart and 
willing hands, provided for her own wants. 

The man whom her girlish fancy had in- 
vested with all desirable qualities was far 
from being a generous, considerate husband. 
Her children had died young, leaving her 
sorrowing and well-nigh heart-broken. As 
she said, there seemed little to do since 
Susan’s death. 

When the last of those who had called her 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


17 


" mother” passed away, the light went out 
from that lowly dwelling, leaving only dark- 
ness. The first winter’s snow now rested 
upon the grave of the child ; so that time had 
not blunted the keenness of sorrow for her 
loss. 

The circumstances connected with her 
death had been peculiarly aggravating. An 
illness, which at first appeared slight, sud- 
denly assumed a more serious aspect, and 
the father left home to summon a physician. 
Unfortunately he was obliged to pass the 
village tavern. Here several of his com- 
panions were spending an idle hour, and 
he was invited to "stop and take a drink.” 
The temptation was too strong for his weak 
powers of resistance, and considerable time 
was spent in the bar-room. 

In consequence of this delay, he reached 
the house of Dr. Webb just after this worthy 
man had started to visit a patient, several 
miles distant. 

" It’s just like my luck not to find the 
doctor at home ; but I left word for him 


2 


18 


OUT OF THE FIFE. 


to come over the first thing to-morrow morn- 
ing/’ said Reuben Smith to his anxious wife, 
when he returned home. 

"Did you go right there? ” she asked. 

"I only stopped a minute at Lang’s,” was 
the reply. 

" That’s the trouble. If you’d keep away 
from Lang’s, you’d have better luck.” 

"There ’tis, Samanthy. That’s just the 
way. I wish you wan’t all the time finding 
fault. I guess ’twont make no difference 
whether the doctor comes to night or in 
the morning.” 

With this cold comfort the mother was 
forced to solace herself, and, watching 
anxiously by the bedside of her suffering 
child, the night wore away. 

Morning came, and with it Dr. Webb. 
"The disease is far advanced,” he said, shak- 
ing his head ominously. "You should have 
sent for me before. If your husband had 
reached my house ten minutes earlier, I 
could have come here yesterday.” 

Mrs. Smith knew enough of her husband 

O 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


19 


to feel sure that he had spent more than ten 
minutes in "Lang’s bar-room.” Whatever 
might have been done the previous evening, 
human skill now availed nothing, and the 
mother felt that the life of her child was 
sacrificed. 

She talked of this to her visitor, who 
listened patiently, although unable to offer 
any consolation. 

" It all comes of liquor,” said the poor wife. 
"If he’d only let that alone, things would go 
well enough. Folks called him smart once ; 
but he’s always behindhand now. There’s 
the barn, not fit for a horse or cow.. I wonder 
it don’t come rattling down in some of the 
high winds.” 

The knitting-needles were plied more vig- 
orously, and the lips closed more tightly, as 
this was said. "Reuben was smart,” at length 
replied his cousin ; " but he was always fond 
of his glass. He and Dexter Rollins were 
great cronies, and to my mind they were 
pretty much alike.” 

Mrs. Smith answered this last remark with 


20 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


more spirit than she could have been supposed 
to possess. Beneath all the disappointment 
and sorrow of her married life lay a memory 
of the happy days preceding. 

The man whose character was thus dis- 
cussed slept heavily until about nine o’clock, 
when he roused himself with an audible yawn, 
and, lighting a lantern, went "to look after 
the cattle.” 

There was no reading of the Scriptures ; 
no prayer for forgiveness and protection. 
The day closed with no acknowledgment of 
God’s power or goodness. 

The next morning it was found that some 
wood must be prepared for the fire, and, after 
considerable delay, Reuben Smith set about 
the work. 

There is music in the sharp ringing of an 
axe as the blows fall quickly and firmly, but 
the dull, uncertain sounds, heard only at in- 
tervals, telling, as they do, of undecided 
purpose and faltering hands, contain no ele- 
ment of music. 

"Dear me, what chopping!” thought the 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


21 


visitor. " I could do better than that my- 
self. If t’would do any good, I’d go out and 
give Reuben a piece of my mind.” 

She went to the windows to look at the 
" lazy chopper,” who held his axe uplifted for 
a blow, when a half-clad child was seen run- 
ning towards the house. 

" Come here, Samanthy, and tell me whose 
child this is,” said Rhoda. " She seems to be 
in a great hurry.” 

"It’s Deacon Rollins’ girl. There must be 
something wrong, or she never’d run like that. 
There she is down, half buried in the snow. 
She has a hard time to get along.” 

But the child sprang to her feet and has- 
tened on, the two women meeting her at the 
door. "What is the matter?” asked Mrs. 
Smith. 

"Mother’s cut her foot with an axe, and 
wants you to come over,” replied the girl, in 
a husky voice, as she fell to the floor. Al- 
most breathless from the great exertion she 
had made, chilled by exposure to the cold, 
and faint for want of food, it was some time 


22 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


before she was able to answer any farther 
questions. 

Rhoda, quick to see what should be done, 
took the child in her arms, saying, as she did 
so, "Tell Reuben to harness the horse. You 
must ride if you’re going over there.” 

Her cousin coming into the house at that 
moment, she delivered the message herself, 
charging him to " be spry about it. The 
woman may bleed to death before anybody 
gets there,” she said. "And you, Samanthy, 
had better put on your cloak and hood so as 
to be all ready.” 

" You’d better go yourself,” was the reply. 
" I shan’t know nothing what to do when I get 
there.” 

"Not know what to do, as old as you are? 
I don’t want to go into that house, and I 
guess Dexter Rollins won’t want to see me ; 
but I’m sorry for his wife, and I can go with 
you if it’s necessary. TTe’d better take a 
roll of old cloth. It may be needed, and 
they say there aint much of anything in the 
house there ought to be.” 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


23 


Mrs. Smith shook her head in disapproval 
of this remark, as she observed a deep blush 
overspread the face of the child. "How 
came your mother to be using an axe ? ” she 
asked . 

"She was cutting some wood,” was the 
somewhat hesitating reply. "Father hadn’t 
got up and there wasn’t any tire.” 

"Thank my stars I had some sense when I 
was a girl, and I guess there’s some left!” 
exclaimed Rhoda Smith. 

" All ready,” shouted a voice from the 
yard. 

"We are all ready too,” answered Sa- 
in an thy. 

"You going, Rhoda? ” asked the man. 

"Yes. They’ll want somebody that knows 
what to do, and I’ve seen a good many bad 
cuts in my life. You can stay and chop some 
wood against we come back.” 

Thus summarily dismissed, Reuben Smith 
went into the house, while the /women did 
their own loading up.” 

Lizzie Rollins was closely wrapped in a 


24 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


large woollen shawl, while Rhocla took the 
reins, and urged the horse to the top of his 
speed. 

" I guess we shan’t find very good sleighing 
after we turn off from the road,” said her 
companion. ”1 don’t believe there’s been a 
team through since the last snow.” 

”That comes from greenwood,” said the 
driver, unheeding the remark, and glancing 
from the almost trackless snow to the heavy 
black smoke issuing from the chimney of 
the house to which they were going. " A 
man must be shiftless to be without dry wood 
such weather as this.” 

There was no need of ceremony in making 
this visit. Help had come not a moment too 
soon. Three ragged children stood crying 
around the mother, who, with fast-failing 
strength, was vainly endeavoring to stanch 
the blood that flowed from her wound. The 
husband, looking more like a brute than a 
man, held a pair of wheezy bellows in his 
hand, with which he commenced blowing the 
fire, so soon as the door opened. 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


25 


Not deigning to notice him, Rhocla Smith 
threw back her hood and examined the in- 
jured foot. "A bad cut,” she said. "You’ll 
need the doctor to take care of this, but I 
can stop the bleeding.” 

This was quickly done. "Now I’m going 
after the doctor,” she said. " Samanthy, 
you can tidy up the room, while I’m gone, 
and make Miss Rollins a cup of tea.” 

"There aint any tea in the house,” whis- 
pered Lizzie. " Mother was going to make 
gruel for breakfast.” 

" Haint you had breakfast yet?” asked 
Rhoda. 

"No, ma’am, only some little pieces of 
bread,” replied the child. "I guess mother’s 
hungry, for she didn’t have any, and she 
didn’t eat any supper last night.” 

Rhoda stayed to hear no more, and, as she 
went out, the father muttered something 
about children’s keeping still when there was 
"company round.” 

Mrs. Smith hardly knew where to com- 
mence. Nothing but a thorough scrubbing 


26 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


with soap and sand would ever make that 
floor tolerable, and for this she had neither 
time nor inclination. A broom made of 
hemlock boughs was standing in one corner, 
and with this she managed to remove some 

O 

of the loose dirt. The hearth was brushed, 
and the children’s faces washed. 

She was considering what could next be 

done, when Dr. AYebb drove up. He had 

\ 

started for his round of visits when he met 
Elio da, and, learning her errand, made all 
possible haste. He had been in the old house 
before, and therefore was not surprised at the 
want of cleanliness and comfort . 

"I hope it aint anything serious,” said Mrs. 
Eollins, as the bandage was removed and the 
wounded foot exposed. 

" It will be some time before you can use 
your foot much. You’ll be obliged to keep 
pretty still for a while.” 

r I don’t see how I can, doctor. There 
won’t be anybody to take care of my chil- 
dren,” said the poor woman/ the hot tears 
coursing down her cheeks. 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


27 


"Your husband must look after them,” 
was the reply. "In the first place, you need 
a better fire than this. Bring some chips, 
Lizzie, and let us see if we can’t have a 
blaze." 

Both wood and chips were green, but the 
doctor was persevering, and a blaze soon 
rewarded his efforts. Faint and fitful at 
first, it gradually grew stronger until it 
threw a warm glow over the room. 

This accomplished, he went out to talk 
with the husband, who had made his escape 
from the house, and was leaning against a 
rough shanty that served as shelter for a 
half-fed cow. He was scowling angrily 
while giving utterance to his displeasure 
in half-whispered curses. "Woman hurt, 
and children crying. What’s a fellow to 
do now?" he at length said aloud. 

"I can tell you what to do," replied a 
clear, manly voice. "Go to work and take 
care of your family. Keep away from 
Lang’s and let liquor alone. It’s of no use 
to look cross at me," continued the doctor. 


28 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


"Your wife is badly hurt, and won’t get oyer 
it very soon.” 

There was no response from the man thus 
addressed. He only passed a hand through 
his matted hair, giving it a vigorous pull, 
wdiile he changed the position of his feet. 

"Have your children had any breakfast?” 
asked his companion. 

" The woman sees to that,” was the sullen 
reply. 

" She can’t cook a breakfast unless there is 
something to cook ; and, to tell you the truth, 
Rollins, your children look hungry. Do you 
know anything about it?” 

"No,” growled the father, again pulling his 
hair, and taking a few steps forward. 

" I can’t afford to spend any more time here 
with you,” said the doctor, after a short pause, 
during which he looked at the man before 
him with an expression of disgust upon his 
own fine face. "You had better 2:0 into the 
house and do the best you can to make your 
family comfortable. Felton will give you 
work whenever you are ready to keep 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


29 


sober. But here comes Rhoda Smith back 
again.” 

" O old maid ! ” growled Dexter Rollins. 
" Nobody wants her round here ; I wish she’d 
stay away and mind her own business.” 

"No danger of her troubling you long,” 
was the reply. " I think she never intruded 
her company upon you.” 

A severe hit, keenly felt; but Dr. Webb 
did not stop to see its effect. The words were 
hardly spoken when he was engaged in talk- 
ing with Rhoda Smith. " Are you going in ? ” 
he asked. 

"Not if I can help it. I guess I’m not 
wanted here, but I stopped on the way to 
get some tea and crackers for Miss Rollins. 
She looks to me as though she needed some- 
thing to eat.” 

"Will Mrs. Smith stay?” he asked. 

" I can’t speak for her. She might as well, 
if she can do any good,” replied Rhoda. 

"There is need of somebody,” said the 
doctor. 


"Need of a good provider.” 


30 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


"No doubt of that, Rhoda ; I wish Rollins 
had a wife who could make him work and 
bring his wages home.” 

O O 

" A man who can’t do his duty without 
being made to do it, isn’t fit to have a 
wife. That’s my way of thinking, and 
always was.” 

By this time Mrs. Smith came out and 
inquired of Rhoda what was best to do. "I 
really believe they are all half starved,” she 
said, "and there’s nothing but corn-meal in 
the house.” 

"Folks won’t starve if they have enough of 
that and know how to cook it,” was the reply. 
"Mercy Rowe was called a handsome girl; 
but she never was much of a hand for busi- 
ness, and since she married Dexter Rollins 
she’s had enough to discourage any woman. 
Folks call me an old maid; but I’d be forty 
old maids before I’d have such a shiftless 
drinking man for a husband. I’ve seen 

O 

enough of it.’ ; 

The doctor laughingly applauded her good 
sense. He had known her for many years, 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


31 


and understood what a good, true heart she 
concealed under a somewhat rousrh exterior. 

O 

It needed but a few words to induce her to 
enter the miserable home, and, with her own 
hands, prepare the morning meal. 

It was very simple, consisting only of 
" hasty-pudding ” and skimmed milk ; the 
milk having been sent in by a kind neigh- 
bor. But there w r as plenty, served in bowls 
and cups that were perfectly clean, and, with 
hunger for sauce, the children made an excel- 
lent breakfast. The mother, refreshed with 
the tea, tried to look hopeful, despite the 
assurance that she must not " expect to get 
about at present.” 

Lizzie was sent to call her father ; but the 
summons was unheeded. He had received 
some parting advice from the doctor, and 
was earnestly considering it. Discharged 
from the shop in which he had worked 
during the summer, he had, early in the 
autumn, removed his familv to the old house 
they now occupied. He hurled imprecations 
against his employer, stigmatizing him as a 


32 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


tyrant, while he boasted of his own ability 
and independence ; yet he knew that he only 
was in fault. 

Mr. Felton had borne with his irregularity 
and drunkenness until it was impossible for 
him longer to endure it. He had then told 
the unfortunate man that he must look else- 
where for work. 

Strong and healthy, there was no reason 
why Dexter Rollins should not obtain remu- 
nerative labor ; but he had spent most of the 
winter in idleness. Occasionally working for a 
day or two, he thus obtained the means to grat- 
ify his appetite, while he provided for his family 
only enough to keep them from starvation. 

He had reached a point where something 
must be done. His last half dollar had been 
spent in a drunken carousal the evening be- 
fore. The prospect was dark. He was cold 
and hungry, yet nothing would tempt him to 
enter the house while Rhoda Smith was there. 
Ashamed to go to the neighbor’s, he shivered 
and fretted in a most uncomfortable frame of 
mind as well as body. 


33 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 

When nearly an hour had elapsed he was 
rejoiced to see Reuben Smith’s horse driven 
from the door, and, assuring himself that the 
sleigh was occupied by the woman whom he 
so dreaded to meet, he breathed more freely. 
"I aint afraid of Samanthy,” he said to him- 
self. "Reuben likes a glass as well as I 
do.” 

He went in, making some pretence of sym- 
pathy for his wife, and taking care to secure 
a full share of pudding and milk. 

Who could believe that this man had ever 
been considered handsome and smart ! His 
eyes were bloocl-shotten, the lids swollen, 
while thick, purple lips but half concealed a 
revolting mouth. Hair and beard, once black, 
now grizzled and shaggy, added to the re- 
pulsiveness of his face. 

When he was married to Mercy Rowe they 
were called a handsome couple, but she had 
changed nearly as much as he. The bloom 
and plumpness of her cheeks had given place 
to sallow emaciation, while the golden hair, 
which had been her pride in the days of girl- 


3 


34 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


hood, had faded and fallen until all that re- 
mained was carelessly confined with a broken 
side-comb. Her form had crown thin and 
angular, the want of sympathy and fulness 
made more apparent by her slatternly dress. 

Sitting there in the midst of dirt and con- 
fusion, she did not present an attractive pic- 
ture ; but the suffering and privation she had . 
endured gave her a claim upon the sympathy 
of those who had been more fortunate. 

Not knowing how or where the next meal 
was to be obtained, she yet retained too much 
pride to utter any complaint, and made an 
effort to appear cheerful, while Mrs. Smith 
performed various acts of neighborly kind- 
ness. She had volunteered to remain in this 
comfortless abode through the day. It seemed 
unkind to leave Mrs. Rollins, but she was 
quite at a loss to know how to occupy her 
time. As she afterwards said to Rhoda, 

" There was everything to do, and nothing to 
do with.” 

After satisfying his appetite, the miserable 
husband seated himself by the fire, and com- 

%j * 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


35 


mencecl smoking, saying, as lie did so, ”1 be- 
lieve you don’t object to smoking, Samanthy.” 
She did not object to it ; that would have 
been useless ; but it was bv no means agree- 
able to her. Her husband smoked, and she 
endured the infliction as she did that of his 
drinking rum and whiskev. 

. She noticed that the man before her had a 
good supply of tobacco, enough to fill pipe 
and mouth for several days to come. 

While he remained in the house the chil- 
dren kept close to their mother, seeming afraid 
to speak above a whisper. About noon he 
got up, shook the ashes from his pipe, and, 
buttoning his ragged coat, started off. 

The children were relieved, but his wife 
looked after him anxiously. There was 
neither food nor fuel for the day. The last 
of the corn-meal had been eaten that morn- 
ing. There were only a few crackers. 

Thinking of all this, helpless as she was, her 
composure gave way. " What shall I do ? ” she 
cried ; " there is nothing left for us but to die.” 
Her neighbor, wishing to encourage her, 


36 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


bade her hope for better days ; but she knew 
by her own bitter experience that there was 
little ground for hope. 

"I have nothing to offer you for dinner,” 
said the unhappy woman. 

"Iso matter for that,” was the reply. "I 
shall do very well without. Don’t think of 
me.” 

The children were not so easily satisfied. 
They clamored for " something to eat,” and 
the crackers were divided among them. 
Their mother drank a cup of tea, and pro- 
tested that she had no need of food. 

" Where has father gone ? ” at length asked 
Lizzie. 

I can better answer that question than 
she to whom it was addressed. When he 
reached the main road, he stopped, quite un- 
decided what direction to go. Had there 
been a stray ninepence in his pocket, he 
would probably have found his way to the 
village. He felt the cravings of a drunkard’s 
thirst, but he had neither money nor credit. 

The shop in which he had worked was two 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


37 


miles distant, yet that was no place for him. 
He’d go down to Reuben’s if it wasn’t for the 
visitor. He would rather freeze than en- 
counter her. 

A feeling of chilliness warned him that he 
must not stop where he was. He walked on 
past the house of Reuben Smith, and made a 
call upon the next neighbor. This man and 
his wife had been his companions when they 
were young, and he then thought himself 
their equal. But everything had changed 
since then. They had sufficient of this 
world’s goods, while he was poor and desti- 
tute. Their home was one of happiness, 
while wretchedness brooded over his dwell- 
ing. He never thought of them without 
cursing his own bad luck, and often cursed 
them for being more prosperous than himself. 
Yet they always treated him kindly. This 
morning he was invited to a seat by the 
lire, inquiries were made in regard to his 
family, and a sincere sympathy expressed for 
his wife, of whose misfortune they had not 
before heard. 


33 


OUT OF TIIE FIFE. 


Mrs. Balch went to the sitting-room to re- 
peat the news to her mother, a dear old lady 
whose heart overflowed with kindness to 
every Irving thing. As she listened, she 
threw up her hands, saying, as she did so, 
" Poor thing ! I wonder if there’s anything 
in the house to eat. We must see to that, 
Mary. I guess I’ll go out and speak to Dex- 
ter.” 

"Good-morning,” she said, pleasantly, as 
she opened the door. " Mary says your wife 
has cut her foot. How did it happen?” 

The man hesitated before replying. " She 
was cutting some wood,” he said, at length. 

"Cutting wood!” repeated Grandmother 
Balch. "So she was doing your work. That 
was all wrong. She has enough to do that 
really belongs to her.” 

By this time the old lady and Dexter Rol- 
lins were the only inmates of the room, and 
she felt at liberty to speak plainly. "Pm 
afraid you’re not doing your duty to your 
family. I remember you as you were twenty 
vears ago.” 

O 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


39 


"I didn’t look much as I do now,” said the 
man, at last aroused from his silence. tr I wish 
I was back there again.” 

" And do you wish to live over the last 
twenty years of your life?” 

"I should like to feel as w r ell as I did then.” 
"I can tell you how you may do that. You 
are a young man yet, only forty-two years 
old, right in the prime of life. If things 
have gone wrong with you, it is your ow T n 
fault.” 

At this the man half rose from his chair, 
while an angry flush spread over his swarthy 
face. 

" Don't be angry with me, Dexter,” said a 
kind voice. ”1 was your mother’s friend, 
and, for her sake, you must bear w r ith an old 
woman.” 

A withered hand rested lightly upon his 
shoulder as this was said, and, turning to look 
at this friend, he saw that tears were trem- 
bling in her eyes. " I wish I was a better 
man,” he murmured ; " but it’s no use. Every- 
thing is against me.” 


40 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


"You are mistaken there, Dexter Rollins. 
Everything is in your favor. You have 
health, strength, and a good trade. What 
provision have you made for your family 
to-day? Have they all they need to make 
them comfortable ? ” 

The flush deepened. Then, as if suddenly 
realizing a terrible truth, his cheek paled. 
" There is nothing in the house to eat,” he 
whispered, hoarsely. 

" What are you going to do ? ” 

"I don’t know,” was the hopeless reply. 
"I haven’t a cent of money, and I couldn’t get 
trusted if I should try. 

"If you’d let drinking alone you’d have 
both money and credit. Mr. Felton needs 
your help, and will be glad to take you back 
if you’ll keep sober.” 

" That wouldn’t help me now. He never 
pays in advance.” 

"I will pay in advance,” said Grandmother 
Batch. "Promise me that nothing stronger 
than tea or coffee shall pass your lips for 
one month, and I will see that your family is 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


41 


supplied with food. Think of it well,” she 
added, after a short pause. "It is your only 
hope. What would you say if your mother 
stood in my place? She prayed that you 

mi of lit be a good man.” 

© © 

This was sufficient. He gave the desired 
promise without further hesitation. 

"Now I will fulfil my part of the bargain,” 
said the happy old lady. 

A basket of food was soon in readiness, 
and, with some kind words at parting, Dexter 
Rollins was sent home to his family. The 
distance was quickly passed, and, to the sur- 
prise of his wife, he entered the house, bring- 
ing what was so greatly needed. 

The smouldering fire reminded him of 
another duty. A few sticks of green wood 
were piled just outside the door ; but a short 
distance from the house was a large wood-lot, 
and the owner of this had told him that he 
would be welcome to any of the dry branches 
that lay scattered upon the ground. 

For the first time, he thought of taking ad- 
vantage of this privilege. He had not even 


42 


OUT OF THE FIFE. 


a wheelbarrow to aid him in his work ; blit he 
had plenty of strength and a determined will. 
Taking a piece of rope, that hung dangling 
from a nail, he started for the woods. 

The children watched him from the win- 
dow, wondering ; and they wondered still 
more when they saw him return, bending 
under the load which he carried. 

It was an easy task to prepare this for the 
fire, and some was soon blazing and crackling 
upon the hearth. The basket had been 
emptied, and Mrs. Smith was preparing sup- 
per when her husband drove up. 

" Just step this way,” he said to Dexter 
Rollins as he opened the door. ” I've just 
come from the village, and I’ve got something 
here that’ll give you a lift such a day as this. 
Take a drink, but don’t let the women see 
you. They make a dreadful fuss about a 
drop of gin or whiskey.” 

"Xot any for me,” was the reply, as the 
proffered flask was pushed aside. 

"Why, Dec, what ails you?” asked the 
astonished man. 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


43 


"X just promised Aunt Xnzzie Balcli I 
wouldn’t drink anything stronger than tea or 
coffee for the next month, and I’m going to 
keep my promise.” 

" Guess yoirll find it a tough job.” 

" Can’t help it. It’s got to be done. I 
wouldn’t tell Aunt Lizzie a lie for all the 
whiskey in town.” 

" Aunt Lizzie is a good woman,” said Reu- 
ben Smith, not knowing what other reply to 
make. "I guess, if you’ll speak to my wife, 
I’ll turn the horse round, and we’ll be going 
towards home as soon as she’s ready.” 

Mrs. Smith anticipated the summons and 
there was no necessity for waiting. Little 
was said during the ride ; but when they 
reached home, Rhoda had many questions 
to ask. 

In replying, the basket of food and the dry 
wood were not forgotten. "They won’t suffer 
from cold or hunger to-night,” said their 
neighbor.. "Lee was sober when X came 
away.” 

"X presume he is drunk by this time.” 


44 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


Mistaken conclusion ! He was hard at work 
replenishing his wood-pile, and when it grew 
too dark to enter the forest, he plied the axe 
vigorously. 

Even Rhoda Smith would have been fully 
satisfied with the rapid strokes. She had 
that day made an effort to rouse her cousin 
from his listlessness. " Your house will tum- 
ble down about your ears, unless it is re- 
paired/’ she said. "Either you or I must 
fasten some clapboards before I try to sleep 
here another night.” 

By this and similar appeals, she succeeded 
in making her host very uncomfortable ; but 
it was doubtful if they would have any per- 
manent effect. When charged with the de- 
creasing value of his land, he attributed it to 
bad luck. His doctor’s bills were large, and 
his taxes high. Take it all together, he didn’t 
seem to get along very well. 

" Where’s that bay colt you had a year ago ? ” 
asked Rhoda, abruptly. 

"I let Lang have him,” was the reply. 

" You ought to have got a good price for it. 


OUT OF TIIE FIRE. 


45 


I heard Mr. Gray say there wasn’t a better 
colt in town. How much did you get for 
it?” 

"Lang had a bill against me, and there 
wasn’t much my due when we settled,” he 
replied, with some confusion. 

" So the price of that colt went down your 
throat, Reuben Smith. I knew it all, before. 
That’s the way you got rid of your meadow 
land and that piece of timber.” 

It was useless to deny the imputation. 
"Well, it’s gone and there’s no use worry- 
ing about it,” said the man, after a pro- 
longed silence. "It can’t be helped now.” 
"I know it’s gone,” was the reply, "and it 
won’t take long for the rest to follow after. 
What are you going to do then?” 

No one, except Rhoda Smith, would have 
presumed to ask this man so many direct 
questions ; but they had been brought up 
together, and she felt at liberty to say to 
him what she pleased. 

The last question was one which had often 
suggested itself, and should have been fairly 


46 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


met ; but, temporizing as he was, he set it 
aside, glad that he could make a reason- 
able excuse for leaving the house. He was 
going for his wife, and, feeling low-spirited, 
went first to the village, and there added 
another charge to Lang’s account. 


II. 


u Beggared and orphaned, the demon of drink, 

With merciless fingers, untiring and strong, 

Slowly, but surely, had forged every link 

Which bound its poor victims to sin and to wrong; 

While wives mourned in secret, their hearts crushed with grief, 
Till death came, in mercy, to give them relief.” 

''Dear me ! Just look at all those dishes, 

Judson. Every one of them must be washed, 

wiped, and put back in place. Mother said we 

might have pancakes for supper, if I would do 

all the work. I’ve seen Aunt Iihoda make 

them a hundred times, and I thought it was 

real easy ; but I was mistaken. I’ve worked 

hard for more than an hour, and it will take 

ever so much longer to clean up. Then, I 

presume, the pancakes won’t be worth eat- 
* 

ing. 

O 

By the time Mattie Gray had finished this 
long speech, her brother was laughing heartily 
at the rueful face before him. Aunt Rhoda 


47 


48 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


hacl been gone less than a week ; but the girls 
had found that popping corn and toasting 
apples were only a small part of the work 
necessary for the comfort of the family. 

Mrs. Gray missed Rhoda’s efficient help, 
and, as she looked forward to the labors 
of a day, they seemed nearly as formidable 
to her as did the array of dishes to her 
daughter. 

The supper, of which pancakes formed the 
principal dish, was upon the table at the usual 
time, and, whatever may have been the mis- 
givings of the youthful cook, they w T ere 
speedily dissipated. 

"Aunt Rhoda’s mantle must have fallen 
upon you, Mattie. She couldn’t do better 
than this,” said Mr. Gray. 

This praise was some compensation for the 
hard work she had done ; but she was too tired 
to care much for her supper. 

Elsie tried to keep up good courage, and 
persevered in toasting apples until she con- 
cluded that " cleaning up spoiled all the 
fun.” Dish-washing and sweeping were bur- 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


49 


densome as ever, and she was quite ready to 
welcome Aunt .Rhoda back again. 

After the supper-table was cleared, the 
last dish washed, and the fire replenished, 
the children asked their father to tell them 
a story. 

"What kind of a story shall it be?” he 
asked, smiling pleasantly upon the group 
around him. 

"I want to hear a bear story,” said Amos, 
who had a great fancy for the growls which 
always accompanied such a story. 

" You can wait till some other time for 
that,” said Elsie. "We want to hear some- 
thing else.” 

"Then suppose I tell you the story of 
an orphan girl. I used to pity her very 
much because she had no father nor mother ; 
and, perhaps, you will pity her, too, when 
you have heard about her.” 

The girls professed themselves anxious to 
hear the story, and Mr. Gray proceed- 
ed : — 

" Seventy-five years ago, a man by the name 
4 


50 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


of Dalton lived on Cross Mountain, near the 
old well.” 

As this was said, Judson laid down his 
slate and closed his arithmetic. He had a 
great curiosity in regard to the people who 
formerly lived on this mountain, and his 
father had often promised to tell him their 
history. 

" The first settlers here put up some kind of 
a cabin before bringing their families ; but 
this man came in the spring, with a young 
wife. Of course they were obliged to camp 
out, and the woman seemed to enjoy it quite 
as well as her husband. After their house 
was built she spent a great deal of time in 
the woods. She knew how to use a rifie, and 
had better luck in fishing than any man about 
here. People said she had some gypsy blood 
in her veins ; but no one knew anything about 
it. 

"Before winter set in, the man went away 
for a few days, and, when lie returned, he 
brought some boxes filled with furniture, 
books, and clothing. Then the house was 

7 e. 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


51 


put in order, and the neighbors began to talk 
about the money it must take to buy all these 
things.” 

" I shouldn’t think anybody would want nice 
things in a log house,” said Mattie. 

"Log houses can be made very comfort- 
able,” replied her father. " Nice things are 
not so out of place in them as you might think. 
This log house stood but a short distance 
from the well, and I have heard my grand- 
mother say that the great ash-tree which shades 
it was set there by Mrs. Dalton. 

"They lived in the log house five years, 
and then a framed house was built where the 
cellar now is. When thev moved to their 
new home they had a house-warming, and 
everybody in town was invited.” 

"They must have had a large house,” 
interrupted Mattie. 

"The house was large, but the town was 
not very thickly settled then. At any rate, 
the guests were well accommodated and hand- 
somely entertained, and came away well 
pleased with everything. ” 


52 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


"Were you there, father?” asked Amos, 
innocently. 

"Of course he wasn’t,” said Elsie, not 
waiting for her father to reply. " That was 
seventy years ago, and father is only forty 
years old.” 

" Then how does he know all about it?” 

" My grandmother told me,” said Mr. 
Gray. 

" Was she there ? ” 

" Indeed she was, and enjoyed it wonder- 
fully. It was a grand affair for those times. 
The people went early in the afternoon, and 
some of them stayed most of the night. There 
was a good deal of hard drinking, and those 
who were the last to leave made pretty slow 
work of getting home.” 

" I hope they didn’t go both sides of the 
road, as Dec Rollins sometimes does,” said 
Judson. 

" I can’t tell about that ; but Dec Rollins’ 
grandfather was there, and he could find as 
many sides to the road as anybody. 

"These people had five children, — three 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


53 


sons and two daughters. They all had black 
hair and eyes, like their mother, and were 
considered very smart. Blit, when they grew 
older, the boys didn’t like working on a farm, 
so they persuaded their father to lease his 
place and move to a larger town. People 
didn’t travel much in those days, and writing 
letters wasn’t greatly in fashion ; so the old 
neighbors didn’t hear much about the Dal- 
tons for several years. 

"The man who hired the farm sent the 
money for the rent regularly, and received a 
receipt in return ; further than that, he went 
on the same as if everything belonged to him. 
It was a valuable piece of land, and he made 
money on it. 

" At last news came that Mr. Dalton and 
his wife were both dead, and one of the 
daughters had come into possession of the 
property here. The tenant had talked before 
of buying the place, and now tried to do so ; 
but the owner refused to sell. 

" Two or three summers after, the daughter 
and her husband came on, looked around for 


54 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


a few days, and then went away. The next 
year the rent was raised, and the tenant 
grumbled loudly ; but then it was much less 
than he could afford to pay. 

"Four years from the time of the visit he 
received word that the owners proposed 
to occupy the farm themselves. Some said 
the man had been unfortunate in business, 
and they were obliged to come here. 

" There was a good deal of curiosity about 
them, but they didn’t mix much with the 
people. Another family, consisting of a 
man and his wife, with two children, came 
with them. The men were cousins, and the 
two families lived together the first year. 
Then they separated, and the stranger bought 
a farm about two miles from the old home- 
stead.” 

" You haven’t said anything about an orphan 
girl, father,” interrupted Elsie, who was get- 
ting impatient for her part of the story. 

" I am coming to her,” was the reply. 
" She was a grand-daughter of Mr. Dalton, 
and lived on Cross Mountain.” 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 55 

"Was she pretty?” asked Mattie. "Did 
she have blue eyes and curly hair?” 

"Her father and mother thought she was 
very pretty. Perhaps you wouldn’t think so. 
She had black eyes and straight hair ; but she 
was a great comfort to her mother, who never 
seemed very happy after she came back here. 
Her husband wasn’t much of a farmer, and he 
didn’t like hard work very well. He tried a 
good many experiments, and under his man- 
agement the farm began to run down. 

When he first came back the man who had 
lived on the place seemed angry because he 
was obliged to leave, and avoided all inter- 
course with the owner. But after two or 
three years he changed his course, and lost 
no opportunity to gain his favor. They 
spent considerable time together, and those 
who had a chance to know said there was 
a good deal of liquor drank between them. 
Any way, things went from bad to worse 
on the mountain, and, as the proprietor there 
grew poorer, his companion grew richer. 

"My grandmother used to visit his wife, 


56 


OUT OF TIIE FIRE. 


and once, when she found her crying, she 
ventured to ask the cause. ' My husband 
is ruining himself and beggaring me,’ she 
replied. 'This farm was the last of my prop- 
erty, and it will soon be gone. 

'* Grandmother tried to comfort her, and 
before she came away the woman seemed 
quite encouraged. After that the man seemed 
to feel that he must do differently. He be- 
gan to farm in good earnest, and spent his 
leisure time with his wife and child.” 

" What was the man’s name, father? ” asked 
one of the listeners. 

"I guess we will call him Smith. That is 
a very common name about here.” * 

" What was the man’s name wdio lived 
there before he came ? ” 

" I am not quite ready to tell you that. I 
must go on with my story, or it will be late 
before I get through. Amos has gone to 

O O O 

sleep already, and perhaps the rest of you 
have heard enough.’ ’ 

O 

" Oh, no, father, please don’t stop ; we have 
not heard enough ! ” exclaimed both of the 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


57 


girls, while Judson’s looks expressed any- 
thing but weariness. 

° * 

" Where was I when you interrupted 
me ? ” 

" Mr. Smith had just begun to work.” 

"Oh, yes; and he worked well; paid off 
some of his debts, and bought more stock for 
his farm. 

" The tenant found after a while that he 
wasn’t making money quite fast enough to 
suit him, so he put out a sign and opened a 
bar-room, where men could buy and drink 
liquor as long as they had money or credit. 
It was a great place of resort, and most of 
the trades among the farmers were made 
there. Mr. Smith kept away for some time, 
but the landlord managed to get him in, one 
day when he was riding by, and after that he 
was a good customer. It wasn’t long before 
all his evenings were spent there, and some 
days he was there from morning until night. 
Of course his farm was neglected, and every- 
thing went wrong. All his wife could say had 
no effect, and he became a perfect sot.” 


58 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


"That means a drunkard, don’t it? ” asked 
Elsie. m 

"Yes, a drunkard of the worst kind; and 
Mr. Smith was that. He was hardly ever 
sober. One night, when he had been out 
late, his house and barn were burnt to the 
ground, and people thought the fire was set 
by his own carelessness. He was too much 
intoxicated to know anything about it, and 
his wife had hard work to get him out of the 
house. They were some distance from neigh- 
bors, so that, by the time any one could get 
there, it was too late to save much. 

" The cousin offered them a temporary 
home, and the people of the town were mak- 
ing preparations to assist them in building a 
new house when Mr. Smith died very sudden- 
ly, after a short sickness. 

" When an examination was made of his 
affairs, the rumseller brought in notes and 
bills against the estate, covering all that re- 
mained after the other debts • were paid. 
There was some talk about dishonesty, but 
the papers were allowed. 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


59 


w This left the widow destitute. There was 
a purse made up for her, and it was known 
that she received money from her brothers ; 
but she was completely broken down in 
health and spirits. She lived only six months 
after her husband died, and then there was an 
orphan girl who cried day and night because 
she was left alone. 

"Word was sent to her uncles ; but they 
made no provision for her, so she remained 
where she was. There were no girls in the 
family, and she soon made herself so useful 
that she could not well be spared. They 
might not intend to treat her unkindly, but 
she was a perfect drudge ; and there was no end 
to the steps she took for the boys, who were 
constantly calling upon her. She never had 
any time to play ; but she didn’t complain. 
She worked from morning till night, just as 
she was told, without seeming to have any 
particular interest in what she did. 

" Her mother had always cared for her ten- 
derly, and kept her better dressed than other 
children of her age. Now, she had a shelter 


60 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


with enough to eat. As for clothes they 
were given grudgingly, and only what was 
absolutely necessary. She went to school 
but a few weeks in the year- — ” 

" Did you go to school with her, father ? ” 
asked Mattie. 

" Yes, and I remember just how she looked. 
She was always late, because there was so 
much w r ork to be done before she was al- 
lowed to come.” 

"Please tell us how she looked,” said 
Elsie. 

"She was small of her age, her skin was 
very dark, and her eyes always looked as 
though she was just ready to cry. The 
scholars called her homely ; but I guess her 
dresses had something to do with her looks. 
They were made up in the easiest way, and 
the cloth was always some dull, faded-out 
color. I think very likely you would laugh 
if you should see a little girl dressed as she 
was then.” 

"I don’t think I should laugh at a little girl 
w r ho hadn’t any father or mother,” said Mat- 

v> J 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


61 


tie. "Perhaps she didn't like the dull, homely 
dresses any better than we should.’ ’ 

"I don’t think she did,” replied Mr. Gray. 
"She liked bright colors, and in summer she 
used to put red flowers in her hair. The 
boj^s where she lived laughed at her when 
they saw them, and told her she looked like 
an Indian. Then she would go away by 
herself and have a good cry ; but that didn’t 
make things any better. As she grew older 
she was expected to do most of the hard work 
for the family. Everybody knew she was 
unhappy, and there was a good deal said 
about it ; but nobody liked to interfere. 

" One afternoon, when she was about sixteen 
years old, she came down here, looking as 
though she had just taken her hands out of the 
dish-water. She said she wanted to see grand- 
mother, and they were shut up together for 
two or three hours. We youngsters were 
very curious to know what was going on ; 
but grandmother kept her own counsel. A 
few weeks afterwards mother told us all 
about it. 


62 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


"The o'irl was getting dissatisfied with her 
way of living. She had been told that she 
was a pauper, and twitted of her dependence, 
until she was determined to know the truth. 
She was nine years old when her parents 
died ; so she knew something of her father’s 
habits and her mother’s unhappiness. She 
asked grandmother a great many questions 
about them. Then she wanted to know how 
much she owed the people where she lived 
for taking care of her.” 

" I guess she didn’t owe them anything,” 
said Elsie. 

"No, indeed. She understood that before 
she left grandmother, and she understood, too, 
that she had friends who would assist her in 
obtaining her rights. After she went home, 
she had a I0112: talk with her cousins, and I 
guess there w 7 ere some high words ; but she 
knew what belonged to her, and the family 
were obliged to give up. She had never 
been bound to them, and they had no author- 
ity over her. She was able to do more than 
earn her own living, and she told them it she 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


63 


stayed with them, they must pay her wages. 

They refused at first, but she was determined, 

and the work couldn’t be done without her 
• 

help. So they made a bargain with her, 
and she felt independent. Now, what do 
you think she did with the first money she 
earned ? ” 

Elsie guessed that she bought a pretty 
dress. Mattie agreed with her. Judson 
thought she might have spent it for books, 
but neither of them were right. 

" She laid it by to pay her funeral ex- 
penses,” said Mr. Gray. "She told grand- 
mother she didn’t mean to be buried like a 
pauper, if she had lived like one. After that, 
she bought red merino for a dress and had it 
made up like other girls of her age.” 

" Seems to me you must have been greatly 
interested in that dress, father,” said Judson, 
laughing. "It made a strong impression 
upon your mind, to be remembered so long.” 

"I teas interested in it, and so was every 
member of our family,, It was cut by my 
mother, and my sisters helped make it. 


64 


OUT 02 THE FIRE. 


Grandmother found some muslin to make a 
ruffle for the neck, and then Rhoda Smith 
had a dress pretty enough to wear any- 
where.” 

hy, father, have you been telling 11s 
about Aunt Rhoda? ” exclaimed Mattie. "I 
never thought of her.” 

I suspected, some, time ago, that you 
were telling us Aunt Rhoda’s story,” said 
Judson. "I heard her talking with mother, 
once, about her Grandmother Dalton. I 
wonder if she was always just as particular 
as she is now.” 

She was always neat. No matter how 
poor and old her clothes were, they were 
clean.” 

" f shouldn’t think she’d go to see her 
cousins now. They were so wicked to her, 
she can’t love them,” said Elsie. 

" She doesn’t go very often, and I guess 
this visit is made from pity,” said Mr. 
Gray. 

" Now I wonder who the wicked man was 
who got all her father’s money.” 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


65 


Elsie’s curiosity in this respect was not 
gratified, but Judson knew that he was 
Clement Foster’s grandfather. 

As the story was concluded, Mrs. Gray 
came in from the sitting-room, where she had 
been resting during the evening. "Why 
didn’t you tell us about Aunt Rhoda before?” 
asked Mattie, turning to her mother. " I 
pity her so much, I shall never feel out of 
patience with her again. It must be a dread- 
ful thing not to have any home, and I hope 
you’ll keep her always.” 

Then, not waiting for an answer to her 
question, or a comment upon her remarks, 
she exclaimed, "I wonder why Aunt Rhoda 
never got married.” 

"Perhaps nobody ever asked her,” said 
Elsie. 

"That is not the reason,” said Mr. Gray. 
"All the young men were in the habit of 
drinking more or less, and she had suffered 
too much to run any risk. She said she 
could take care of herself, but she couldn’t 
support a drunken husband.” 


66 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


"Did you ever drink rum, father?” asked 
Elsie, her eyes dilating with astonishment. 

"I must plead guilty,” was the serious 
reply. "Yet I was a very moderate drinker, 
and should have been an exception to the 
rule if I had abstained entirely.” 

" How came you to leave off ? ” asked 
Judson. 

"Your mother thought it was best,” re- 
plied Mr. Gray, glancing affectionately at his 
wife. 

"And your father agreed with me,” she 
added. "We didn’t wish our children to 
grow up drunkards, and I presume Aunt 
Kho da had some influence. She came here 
the summer after you were born, Judson, and 
that was the first season your father refused 
to furnish rum to his workmen. It was a 
very unpopular decision, and the men left 
without ceremony. The grass must be cut, 
and there was need of help ; but the idea of a 
man working all day in the hay-field without 
some kind of liquor was enough to prevent 
any one coming here.” 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


67 


At this moment Amos claimed his mother’s 
attention, and she left her husband to com- 
plete the history which she had commenced. 

" I hope you didn’t give up to the men, 
father,” said Mattie. 

" I certainly did not. I had counted the 
cost, and was not disappointed in the result. 
But I had a large stock of cattle, and some 
way or other the grass must be cut. I 
offered extra wages, more than enough to 
pay the cost of the liquor usually furnished.” 

" They might have bought it themselves, 
with the money you paid them,” suggested 
Elsie. 

" Two or three proposed that; but I told 
them they could drink no liquor on my prem- 
ises. Then Ehoda came to the rescue. She 
said, if I would get any one to do the work in 
the house she would help me about haying. 
I didn’t like the looks of that, and it was 
some time before I would consent to it. 
Father had done the light work in the hay- 
lie Id for two or three years ; but his health 
was better than usual that summer, and he 


C8 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


thought lie should be able to do some mow- 
ing. So, when I found there was no other 
way, I hired a girl in the house, and we be- 
gan our work.” 

"How did grandfather like your plan?” 
asked Judson. 

" He didn’t fancy it at first ; but he never 
liked to yield to opposition, and, before 
summer was through, he fully agreed with 
me.” 

"Did he help you mow? ” 

"Yes, and good help he was too. I used to 
tell him he was working beyond his strength ; 
but he seemed quite as well when we were 
through as when we bewail.” 

"And did Aunt Rhoda work out-doors ev- 
ery day?” asked Mattie. 

" She worked there every day when I did, 
and very often the whole family were in the 
hay-field.” 

" That was a happy summer, husband,” said 
Mrs. Gray, who had again joined the group. 

" I look back to it as one of the happiest of 
my life,” was the reply. "Yet I never worked 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


69 


harder. I made longer days than I have since, 
but everything prospered, and I got through 
haying as soon as some of my neighbors who 
had both rum and men.” 

"How did Aunt Rhoda like it?” asked 
Elsie. 

"She enjoyed it as well as the rest, and she 
was as much interested as though the hay had 
been her own. Some of the young men used 
to laugh at her for doing a man’s work ; but 
she was too independent to care. She told 
them to wait ten years and see what kind 
of work their wives would be obliged to 
do.” 

" They have all done worse work than 
haying,” said Mrs. Gray. 

"And fared hard, too,” added her husband. 
"Dec Rollins had the most to say, and his 
wife has certainly fared hard. She cut her 
foot the morning after Rhoda went to Reu- 
ben’s, and the family were nearly in a starving 
condition. I forgot to speak of it before,” he 
said, in reply to the expressions of surprise 
with which this intelligence was greeted. " Dr, 


70 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


Webb told me of it this afternoon. Rhoda 
went there and got breakfast for them.” 
"What did they have?” asked Mrs. Gray. 
"Hasty-pudding, with some skimmed milk 
that Mrs. Wines sent in. But Rollins has 
gone back to Felton’s, and while he works 
there they can be comfortable, if he doesn’t 
spend his wages at Lang’s.” 

"Now, Mattie, tell us what you think of 
Aunt Rhoda,” said Judson. 

"I think she is good and smart,” was the 
reply. "But she has a great many notions, 
and she is terribly particular.” 

•Mattie caught her mother’s eye fixed upon 
her as she said this, and hastened to sub- 
stantiate her charge by asking a question. 
" Don’t you think it is foolish to have so 
many signs about everything ? ” 

"Yes, my child, I do; but if you had 
heard them constantly since you were nine 
years old, they would seem of more im- 
portance than they do now. Mrs. Smith 
was a superstitious woman, and it isn’t 
strange that Rhoda should be something 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


71 


like her. As to being particular, if you 
had scoured the floor with soap and sand, 
you wouldn’t quite like to have it covered 
with grease-spots ; neither would you like 
to give it an extra sweeping after you had 
worked hard all day.” 

"I know I shouldn’t, mother,” was the 
frank reply, "and I’ll try to remember it.” 
Some of Rhoda Smith’s peculiarities an- 
noyed Mrs. Gray scarcely less than her 
children. Faith and patience faltered in the 
presence of so many signs and wonders. 

In her lonely, isolated life the orphan girl 
had learned to attach importance to the most 
trifling events, and a lively imagination, 
which, under proper culture, might have 
been the source of pleasure to herself and 
others, expended itself in foolish conceits 
and morbid fancies. The spilling of salt, 
and the buzzing of a bee, were both ominous, 
while the new moon was sure to bring good 
or evil luck, as it was seen over the right or 
left shoulder. 

Whenever Rhoda was disappointed in any 


72 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


plan or expectation, she was sure to remem- 
ber some warning of evil. The visit to her 
cousin’s had been decided upon as a matter 
of duty, and when tired with waiting, it was 
natural for her to feel that she ought to remain 
at home. Then, she was no sooner seated 
in the sleigh with her cousin than she found 
he had been indulging in his usual potations, 
and this increased her vexation, which was not 
removed by the events of the visit. Every- 
thing she saw and heard reminded her of the 
curse which had rested upon her own home. 

Reuben Smith had been accustomed to 
drink from his earliest boyhood ; and in 
this he but followed the example of his 
father. Yet he was never seen intoxicated. 
The draught which excited others almost 
to madness only stupefied him. He never 
terrified his wife with furious bursts of 
passion ; but he neglected his business, and 
was exceedingly irritable when reminded 
of his shortcomings. 

As a young man, he had been tolerably 
active, and when he bought a good farm, 


OUT OF THE FIKE . 


73 


there was a fair prospect that he would 
pay for it. But, instead of this, each year 
increased his indebtedness ; and, the property 
decreasing in value under his management, he 
was obliged to sell at a discount from the 
original price. He then purchased a cheap 
place, rough and stony, requiring hard work 
to make it at all productive. At the death 
of his father, two pieces of valuable land came 
into his hands ; but they were not long in his 
possession. 

Mrs. Smith felt all this keenly. She had 
been an energetic woman until crushed by 
sorrow and disappointment, and had often 
remonstrated with her husband, telling him 
plainly the cause of all his troubles. But 
he only muttered in reply, solacing himself 
with an extra glass or a prolonged smoke. 

At the time of Rhoda’s visit, they were not 
really suffering from poverty, yet there was 
an evident want of everything beyond the 
bare necessaries of life. Furniture needed 
to be replenished, and there was no pro- 
vision for future wants. Within doors, there 


74 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


was order and neatness, without confusion and 
want of cleanliness. 

During the absence of her cousins, Rhoda 
improved the opportunity to look around. 
She went to the barn, examined the poorly 
cured hay, noted the appearance of the few 
cattle in the yard, and lastly explored the 
granary. 

The result of this survey was far from satis- 
factory, and she betook herself to knitting 
with renewed energy. Later, as visions of 
the past flitted before her, her hands rested 
idly in her lap, while her eyes grew moist 
with tears. 

The sound of bells roused her, and, when 
the door was opened, no trace of emotion was 
visible. "Well, Samanthy, how did you 
leave Miss Rollins ?” she asked. 

"Comfortable,” was the reply. "Dec went 
off and got a basketful of something to eat. 
I guess it came from Luther Balch‘s. He is 

o 

going to Felton’s in the morning.” 

O O C 

" Who is going to take care of the children 
while their mother is lame?” 


OUT OF THE FIKE. 


75 


"They think they can get along among 
themselves, and there certainly isn’t room 
for anybody else, in the house. I thought 
our house was bad enough ; but that is a great 
deal worse.” 

This last remark was heard by Reuben 
Smith ; but, ignoring his presence, Rhoda re- 

f 

plied, quickly, " That is just such a house as 
you might expect a drunkard to have. Lang 
dresses his wife and daughters in silk, and 
the poor men around here help him do it. 
There are plenty more in town not far behind 
Dec Rollins. I wonder if it wouldn’t be a 
good plan for the women to set to and drink 
with their husbands. What should you 

4 

think of it, Reuben?” she asked, looking her 
, cousin full in the face. 

" I never thought anything about it,” he 
said, after some hesitation. 

This evening was spent much like the pre- 
ceding, only that the duties of the barn 
seemed to occupy much more time. 

Truth to tell, a flask of liquor had been left 
there by Reuben Smith. It was of little con- 


70 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


sequence to him whether his wife was pleased 
or displeased with his habits ; but he really 
feared his cousin. 


He had ridiculed her when she was a child, 
taunted her with poverty, and sneered at every 
attempt she made at adornment. The 
tables were now turned. She was independ- 
ent, asking no favors, and indifferent to his 
opinion. He went to the house with reluct- 
ance, and was glad to find that his guest had 
retired for the night. 

The next two days were spent in work, and 
as a result, a respectable wood-pile appeared 


in the yard. 

The monoton v of the week was broken for 
Ehoda by an invitation to spend the day at 
the house of Mr. Batch. It was necessary to 


make some extra preparation for this visit, and 
as she stood before the little cracked mirror, 


, 


with her unbound hair falling far below her 
waist, she had a dim perception ot what she 
might have been . 

o 

This wealth of lustrous black hair would 
have made many women beautiful. She re- 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


77 


membered when, with girlish pride, she had 
plaited it, twining among the braids the scar- 
let cardinal flower and the brilliant nastur- 
tium. Then the sneers of her cousins. What 
had she to do with beauty? — she, a drunk- 
ard’s child, with a gipsy face. 

Ten years of her life she had been sheltered, 
and yet through all those years she had been 
homeless. At this thought, she gathered up 
her hair hastily, and, with a bitter smile upon 
her lips, turned away. 

It was a relief to £o out alone, into the 
keen, cold air, and in present exertion forget 
the past. Arrived at her destination, the 
cordial greetings she received, and the pleas-, 
ant influences with which she was surrounded, 
softened her harsh moods. 

Aunt Lizzie had always felt a most affection- 
ate interest in Rhoda Smith. She knew the 
birthright of which she had been deprived, 
and the trials she had endured ; and, knowing 
these, she was ever ready to excuse her pe- 
culiarities. 

Several months had elapsed since they had 


78 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


met for more than a passing salutation, and 
there was much to be said during this visit. 
When left by themselves, Rhoda seated her- 
self on a low stool at the feet of her aged 
friend, just as she had often done when she 
was a child. 

" You always make me think of my 
mother,” she said, after a short silence. 
" When I come here, it seems almost like 
seeing her. I shouldn’t be what I am now, 
if she had lived.” 

" Yet God knows what is best for us,” was 
the reply. " It is a comfort to remember that.” 

"It may be comfort to some folks, but I 
never could see why ’twas best for me to lose 
my mother.” 

The voice that uttered these words was hard 
and cold, although the bowed head but half 
concealed the fast-falling tears. 

" You may never in this world see why it 
was best,” said Aunt Lizzie, tenderly ; " but I 
hope the time will come when you will ac- 
knowledge God’s hand in all your trials. 
You have had a great deal to be thankful for,” 

D 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


79 


she added, after a pause. "Many mercies 
have been mingled with your afflictions.” 

"What mercies have I had?” asked the 
listener, quickly; and then, as if abashed at 
her own ingratitude, she said, " Sometimes, 
everything looks very dark to me.” 

Without seeming to notice the apology im- 
plied in this remark, her companion replied 
to the strange question. "You have always 
had health and strength,” she said. "You 
have found good friends, and you have been 
able to provide well for yourself. Think of 
Amy Hill. How much harder her life has 
been than yours ! She lost both of her par- 
ents when she was very young, and she hard- 
ly knows what it is to be well. But she 
never complains. She believes God will 
take care of her, and so she trusts him with 
her whole heart.” 

"I haven't seen Amy for more than two 
years,” was Rhoda’s evasive reply. "She 
used to come to Mr. Gray’s before she went 
to live with her aunt in the other part of the 
town. I always pitied her, she seemed so 


80 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


feeble. I don’t know bow I should firet along: 

O C3 

with so much sickness as she has.” 

"You ought to be thankful that it isn’t sent 


upon you. She would consider such health 
as yours a great blessing. When you are 
a Christian you will count your mercies as 
well as your afflictions.” 

Her heart rebelled at the very thought of 
being a Christian. She praise God for his 
goodness? Never, until she could forget the 
old home on Cross Mountain, with the suffer- 
ings of her mother and herself. 


Aunt Lizzie, quick to divine these thoughts, 
wisely led the conversation to other topics. 
She inquired for the health of Mrs. Gray, 
and talked of the children. "You have a 
pleasant home there,” she said. 

"I’ve no fault to find,” was Rhoda’s reply. 
" Mr. Gray and his wife have always treated 
me well ; but it’s as much as I can do to keep 
the kitchen in order. I expect there’ll be 
great times while I’m gone. Mattie and 
Elsie think there is nothing to do but play 
and make a litter.” 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


81 


" You must expect a litter where there are 
children. I always like to see them happy 
if they do make some work. I guess our 
children think the kitchen belongs to them, 
and, after the chores are done at night, they 
have merry times there. They say Mr. 
Gray’s girls are smart to work, and you 
mustn’t begrudge them their play ; you used 
to like play yourself.” 

"I didn’t have much time for it though,” 
said Rhoda. " There was nothing but work 
for me, after mother died.” 

"And you got tired of it,” suggested the 
good old lady, who, knowing the want of 
sympathy between her guest and the younger 
members of the family with whom she lived, 
was anxious to promote a better feeling. 

"I did get tired of it, and I wonder now, 
why all the work came to me.” 

Mrs. Luther Balch coming into the room 
at this moment, and, hearing the word work, 
said, with a smiling face, " I believe you real- 
ly like work, Rhoda, and mother says work 

well done is twice done, so yours must all 

6 


82 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


be twice done. I wish some of our neigh- 
bors would follow your example. It would 
be a good thing if you’d give your Cousin 
Reuben some lessons.” 

rr I’ve given him lessons enough, but he 
only grows worse. I shan’t pity him much 
whatever happens ; but I’m sorry for his wife. 
She’s most discouraged.” 

" Samanthy does as well as she can,” re- 
sponded the old lady ; " but she’s broke down 
a good deal since Susan died. I was in 
hopes she’d come over with you to-day.” 

" She’d been glad to come. Her headache 
kept her at home.” 

'* I’m afraid ’twas more heartache than head- 
ache,” was the reply. " It’s hard work for 
a woman to keep up when everything goes 
wrong out-doors. I’ve seen too much of 
• that in my day. Lang gets too much of 
Reuben’s money.” 

There was but one opinion in regard to 
this, and the merits of rumselling and rum- 
drinking were freely discussed. Thus occu- 
pied, they scarcely heeded the first falling 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


83 


flakes of snow, until Mr. Balch coming in, 
said there was every appearance of a regular 
" north-easter.” 

"Then I had better go back before the 
storm gets any worse,” said Rhoda, making 
haste to knit into her seam-needle. 

This proposal, however, met with so much 
opposition that she was forced to yield the 
point, and, although she watched the clouds 
somewhat anxiously, nothing more was said 
in regard to leaving until night was closing 
in. Then Aunt Lizzie and her daughter pro- 
posed that their visitor should remain with 
them until the storm was over. 

"The children will feel quite injured if you 
go without seeing them,” said, their mother. 
" You can be carried to your cousin’s if you 
think you must go ; but we should be very 
glad to have you stay.” 

If there Avas any hesitation in regard to 
accepting this invitation, it vanished when 
the children came in from school, bright, 
rosy, and happy. 

"I was so glad father didn’t come after us,” 


84 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


said Lizzie, grandmother’s namesake. "It 

7 o 

was such fun to fight the snow.” 

o 

"How many times did you fall down?” 
asked her brother George, laughing. 

"Just six times,” was the frank reply, "but 
that didn’t hurt me. Mother says tumbles 
make us stronger, and I guess they do, for I 
feel pretty strong to-night.” 

"I should thing you might feel strong 
every night,” said her sister, a womanly girl 
of thirteen. " You have had tumbles enough 
in your life.” 

There was something in the appearance of 
these children which strongly attracted Khoda 
Smith, and she was soon talking w T ith them 
in a way that would have made Elsie Gray 
open her eyes with wonder. 

"Will Mr. Smith come after you?” asked 
Lizzie of her new acquaintance. 

"Perhaps he will,” was the reply. 

" I hope it will storm so hard he can’t,” 
said the child, earnestly, and by the time 
supper was over, and the doors of the old- 
fashioned cook-stove were thrown wide open, 


















POPPING COLIN. 


Page i>5. 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


85 


lighting up and .warming the farthest corner 
of the kitchen, Rhoda was ready to express 
the same hope. She saw the nuts and corn 
brought in, without the slightest feeling of 
impatience, and even tried her fortune with 
apple-seeds on the hot shovel. 

Meantime the storm howled without, and 
huge drifts of snow were piled wherever an 
obstacle opposed its progress. 

"We ought to be thankful for a comforta- 
ble home such a night as this,” said Aunt 
Lizzie, who always counted the blessings of 
life rather than the trials. 

"That is true, mother,” responded her son, 
as a gust of unusual fury swept past. "We 
have some neighbors who will find it hard 
work to keep warm to-night.” 

" I should think Dec Rollins’ house would 
be carried off,” said George, as he held the 
corn over the hot fire. 

"More danger of the barn than the house,” 
was the reply; "but I guess he’ll have some 
shovelling to do in the morning.” 

"It will do him good to work,” said Mrs. 


86 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


Balch. "A man with his strength ought to 

O CD 

work.” 

" He is at work, now, for Nelson,” replied 
her husband, "and since he went back, has 
done more than any two men in the shop. I 
saw him going home about dark, and he won’t 
be likely to get far away to night.” 

"Now, father, you haven’t played 'blind 
man’s buff’ with us for a great while,” said 
Lizzie, who had been waiting some time for 
an opportunity to speak. "Won’t you play 
with us to-night? I know mother will, and 
that will make enough. You’ll play, — won’t 
you?” she added, turning to Rhoda: and, 
strange to say, Rhoda joined in the game, 
and, what is more, she enjoyed it. 

Aunt Lizzie looked on through the open 
door of the sitting-room, smiling at the inno- 
cent mirth which vented itself in ringing 

o CD 

shouts of laughter. 

CD 

Storm-bound, and content to be thus, the 
evening passed all too soon, and closed with 
a prayer, by the father of the family, for each 
one who found shelter beneath his roof. 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


87 


Was it strange that half-sleeping, half- 
waking, with the wind howling hoarsely or 
shrieking shrilly, strange fancies should have 
thronged the brain of the guest? 

She was a child again, sitting by the old 
well, in the sunshine, while the birds sang in 
the waving branches above her head. But 
soon the sky was overcast, the thunder mut- 
tered in the distance, and the gathering storm 
warned her that she must seek a place of 
refuge. 

Her mother stood beside her. She 
grasped her hand firmly, and together they 
commenced climbing the mountain. Steep 
and rough was the path ; her feet were bruised 
and bleeding. She faltered ; suddenly she 
found herself alone, and the summit of the 
mountain far, far away; fainting, sinking, 
yet still struggling forward, urged by an ir- 
resistible impulse. Sometimes she reached 
out her hands involuntarily for support, but 
none was given ; she clasped only emptiness. 

Tossing restlessly from side to side, she 
welcomed the approach of morning, and 


88 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


hailed with joy the first sounds of life in the 
house. Her thoughts assumed a more 
healthy tone. She reviewed the conversation 
of the previous day. She acknowledged that 
she had many blessings. 

For the first time, she felt some regrets 
for having so often thwarted the wishes of 
the children at her home. In the hour be- 
tween waking and rising there was time to 
form some good resolutions, and a resolve 
made by her was sure to manifest itself. 

"You will stay w 7 ith us another day, Rho- 
da,” said her hostess, wdien they met that 
morning. " The roads can hardly be opened 
to-day, even if it should clear off before 
noon.” 

"Well-housed and thankful;” that was 
Aunt Lizzie’s greeting. " I wish everybody 
w 7 as as w r ell off as we are.” 

" I know I am well off,” replied Rhoda ; 
" but Samanthy will miss me to-day. We 
had planned to do some work that she can't 
do alone very well.” 

By nine o’clock the sun was shining 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


89 


through the rifted clouds, and the tedious 
process of breaking out had commenced. 
Towards night Reuben Smith was seen com- 
ing up to the house, driving his oxen with 
unusual energy. The drifts were light, and 
the path easily made. 

" Is Rhody ready to go home with me ? ” 
he asked of Mrs. Balch, who went to the 
door. 

" We are not ready to have her go,” she 
replied ; " but I’ll speak to her and see what 
she says. We were disappointed not to see 
your wife yesterday.” 

" She was having one of her poor turns,” 
was the man’s awkward reply. 

It did not take Rhoda long to decide. 
Quite a comfortable seat had been prepared 
for her on the sled, and she proposed to oc- 
cupy it. 

She bade each member of the family good- 
by, taking the hand of Aunt Lizzie last. 
" I thank you for telling me of my mercies,” 
she said; "I shall remember to count them, 
now.” 


90 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 

"New every morning, and fresh every even- 

1/ o J v 

ing,” was the reply. 

"I should have come after you last night, if 
it hadn’t stormed so,” remarked Reuben, when 
they were about half-way home. " Samanthy 
was pretty much disappointed, but I told her 
I guessed you wouldn’t want to come out in 
the storm, especially when you was in such 
good quarters.” 

Short reply was made to this. Rhoda was 
in no mood for talking, and they rode the re- 
mainder of the way in silence. 

The oxen ploughed their way slowly through 
the drifts, and the house was reached at last. 
Here only the upper parts of the windows 
could be seen, and, in some places, the snow 
reached to the very eaves. 

" I’m glad you’ve come,” said Mrs. Smith, 
as her cousin entered ; " seems as though I 
never was quite so lonesome as I’ve been to- 
day. I wanted Reuben to go after you last 
night ; but I couldn’t get him started.” 

" It’s just as well,” replied Rhoda; "I’ve 
had a good visit, and I guess I shall be the 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


91 


better for it. — But you’ve been sick,” she 
added, noticing the pale, haggard face. 

"I don’t think I’m sick, but I couldn’t sleep 
last night. It seemed to me I could hear my 
children crying. I get tired of living some- 
times.” 

"I’m sorry for you, Samanthy,” said her 
friend ; " I wish I could do something to help 
you ; but - it’s a long road that has no turn,’ 
and things may be better.” 

" Not while everything goes for drink.” 
Bhocla counted another blessing, — she was 
not a drunkard’s wife. 

"Have you heard from Miss Rollins?” she 
asked, hoping to interest her cousin in the 
troubles of her neighbor. 

" Dec was here this morning, and he said 
she was getting along pretty well. He came 
down after a piece of pork for their dinner.” 
Reuben came in, rubbing his hands briskly, 
saying, as he did so, "I must mend up my 
barn as soon as the spring opens.” 

Cold air and exercise had quickened his 
blood and opened his eyes, but after supper 


92 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


he relapsed into his usual drowsy state, thus 
giving his wife and cousin an opportunity to 
converse without any feeling of restraint. 

Rhoda talked of her visit, and repeated the 
news she had heard. "I believe Aunt Lizzie 
loves everybody,” she said, in concluding her 
account of some good deed done. 

"I’m sure she does,” rejoined Mrs. Smith, 
"and everybody loves her. If anybody is in 
trouble, she’s the one to go to. When Susan 
was sick, she come over here, and was like a 
mother to me. I wish I was as good as she 
is.” 

Her companion echoed the wish, and thought 
of Amy Hill, who, a constant sufferer, and in 
a great measure depended upon others for a 
support, was yet happy and contented with 
her lot. She asked her cousin in regard 
to her. 

Immediately the pale face lighted up with 
a new interest, as she said, "Amy’s as good 
as Aunt Lizzie. She sent me some flowers 
to put in Susan’s coffin, and I meant to go 
and see her before now. But it’s too far 


OUT OF THE FIKE. 


93 


to walk, and Reuben never seems ready to go 
with me.” 

" Suppose we go over to-morrow. It will 
do you good to get out.” 

" I shall be glad to go if we can have the 
horse ; only I should be ashamed not to carry 
something, and — ” 

" Never mind that,” interrupted Rhoda, " I’ll 
see to that part;” and, wishing to have the 
whole matter settled, she roused her cousin. 

" You can have the horse,” he said, in reply 
to her question ; " but you’ll find pretty hard 
going.” 

They had forgotten the recent storm and 
drifted roads. 

"I w r as going down that way with the oxen, 
in a few days,” said Reuben, after he had heard 
their plan . " I can go to-morrow as well as any 
time, and you can go, too, if you’ll ride on the 
sled.” 

A sled was as good to them as a sleigh, so 
there were no objections on that score. 

In talking of this proposed visit, Mrs. Smith 
became quite cheerful, and, after consideration, 


94 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


she found that even from her scanty store some 
things could be spared which might be of use 
to persons situated as were Amy Hill and her 
aunt. 

Refreshed by a night’s quiet sleep, she was 
moving about her kitchen early the next morn- 
ing, and greeted her cousin with something 
like animation ! f 'It’s going to be a fine day, 
and I want to get started in season, so to have 
plenty of time.” 

Renben, for once, did hurry a little, and was 
ready as soon as his passengers. 

Mrs. Lunt and her niece lived a little off the 
main road, but they had not been neglected by 
their neighbors. A path had been broken up 
to their door, while shovel and broom had laid 
bare the large, fiat door-stone. 

Nowhere could a visit have been more ac- 
ceptable. It was a great pleasure to the 
occupants of this humble home to see their 
friends, and this pleasure was expressed so 
earnestly and simply as to put their visitors 
m sympathy with them. 

Amy, who was the chief attraction, sat in 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


95 


an easy-chair by a south window, where the 
sunlight just glanced upon her golden hair. 
On a small stand by her side were a fragrant 
geranium, with a pot of mignonette now in 
blossom, whose mingled perfumes pervaded 
the whole room. A Bible rested upon the 
same stand, so that her treasures were all 
within reach. It was one of her best days, 
when the expression of weariness and pain 
left the pure, sweet face. 

r 'l was wishing this morning that some one 
would come ; but I didn’t expect it,” she said. 
"I think Aunt Milly has been getting lone- 
some through the storm. Yesterday, when 
we first got up, we couldn’t see out for the 
snow ; but our neighbors remembered us.” 

Rhoda could say but little. She looked at 
the crutches, without the aid of which Amy 
Hill could not even stand, and added another 
to her already long list of acknowledged bless- 
ings. 

Mrs. Smith was gratified by the assurance 
that she had brought just what was most 
needed. 


96 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


" I have nothing to give you in return but 
my thanks and prayers,” said Amy. "There 
are some in this world whom God allows to 
work, while others only wait. I am only 
waiting. I have hoped that the time would 
come when I might work ; but my Heavenly 
Father knows what is best for me.” 

Rhoda sat down beside her, clasping the 
emaciated hands in her own hard palms. 
Alike orphaned, and tracing their misfor- 
tunes back to the same cause, how unlike 
had been their lives ! The strong woman, 
who had been allowed to work, was fain 
to kneel at the feet of her who was " only 
waiting.” 

O 

Won by gentle words, she allowed this 
friend to look into her heart and see the 
ingratitude she had cherished. 

"It always seemed so hard that I was left 
alone,” she said, partly in extenuation of her 
fault. "Other children had somebody to take 

V 

care of them, but I had to fight my own way.” 
"I know how hard it is,” was the reply. 
" I’ve often thought of you ; but you are so 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


97 


strong ; I didn’t know as you felt it as I 

O * v 

have.’' 

"I’ve thought ’twas hard for me to liave to 

O 

work, too,” said Rhoda, in a tone of bitter 
self-reproach. 

A sudden quivering of the clasped hands 
told how this confession stirred the feelings 
of the listener. "Perhaps you never’ll think 
* so again,” she said, after a short silence. 

" I know I never shall,” was the reply. " I’ve 
learned a lesson from you.” 

"Have I done you any good?” asked Amy, 
looking tenderly at her companion. 

Tears answered this question, and, as if 
fearing to trust herself further, Rhoda began 
fumbling in a bag which hung on her arm. 
After considerable delay, she took from it an 
old netted purse, and emptied the contents into 
the lap of her friend. 

Amy opened her lips to remonstrate, but 
was soon silenced. 

"I want you to have it,” said Rhoda, 
and there was evidently more pleasure in 

giving than receiving. 

7 


98 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


After this there was time for Amy to have 
the long talk she so much desired with Mrs. 
Smith. 

Mrs. Lunt, on hospitable thoughts intent, 
placed the little round table in the centre of 
the kitchen, and spread it with the best her 
pantry afforded. Then, when all were seated 
around it, she asked a blessing upon the food 
provided, and, by her genial manners, made 
the plain fare seem luxurious. 

Each incident of that visit was one to 
be treasured for long years, and each word 
lingered in the memory like a strain of 
sweetest music. 


III. 


“God knows best; though dark clouds lower, 

Still he reigns, supreme, above, 

Matchless, in his wondrous power, 

Meting out each fate, in love.” 

Never, since the earliest clays of her child- 
hood, had Rhoda Smith risen from her bed 
with so light a heart as on the morning after 
her visit to Amy Hill. 

The current of life flowed strongly through 
her veins. Not a pulse throbbed with pain, 
not a nerve quivered. Existence itself seemed 
a blessing, and she was disposed to look upon 
the world with charity. There was no fault- 
finding in the tone with which she addressed 
her cousin. Breakfast was a cheerful meal. 

Reuben looked at her in astonishment. "I’ve 
just found out what’s the matter with yon,” 
he said, at length. '* You’ve got your hair 
done up a new way, and it makes you 
look ten years younger.” 


99 


100 


OUT OF THE FIEE. 


Samantha turned towards her, then ex- 
claiming, " I couldn’t think what made you 
look so different yesterday ; but I never 
noticed your hair. Where did you get that 
notion ? ” 

r ' Lizzie Balch wanted Mary to do it up 
like her mother’s, when I was there. I 
liked it pretty well, so I thought I’d try 
it myself.” 

"Well, I wouldn’t go back again to the 
old wav. It makes a wonderful change in 
your looks ; but I believe you’ve got more 
hair on your head than any other three 
women in town.” 

Ehoda had no desire to hear any more 
upon this subject, and soon managed to 
turn the attention from herself by remind- 
ing her cousin that his wife needed a new 
dress. 

"I didn’t know but she had dresses 
enough,” he said, in reply. " She haint 
said anything to me about it.” 

" She never said anything to me about it 
either; but I found it out, and it’s just 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


101 


the time now to have it made, while I’m 
here.” 

All this was said pleasantly and con- 
fidently, as though the buying of a dress 
was an every-day occurrence in the family ; 
while, in truth, it was more than two years 
since a dress cf any kind had been bought 
for Samantha Smith. The proposition was 
as much of a surprise to her as to her 
husband, and, although needing a dress, 
she regretted that anything had been said 
about it. The very mention of a new dress 
was sufficient to put her husband in ill-humor 
for several days, and he never could see what 
women wanted of so many new dresses. 

To turn and remake an old black dress was 
the work planned for the day, and, in talking 
of this, Bhoda learned how scanty was the 
wardrobe of her hostess. She decided upon 
an addition, and, nothing daunted by the 
reply she had received, volunteered the 
information that " Starkey brought up some 
handsome merinos. Miss Lang was buying 
one, the last time I was in there. There 


102 


OUT OF THE FIFE. 


aint a woman in town dresses better than 
she does ; but their money comes easy, and 
she can afford to spend it.” 

Reuben winced at this. He expected to 
be told that his money went to support 
Lang’s wife rather than his own ; but he 
was entirely mistaken. 

"Lang must be pretty well off,” said Mrs. 
Smith. 

"Folks say so,” replied Rhoda ; "but when 
he came here he couldn’t pay his debts. Sell- 
ing liquor must be more profitable than 
drinking it, for he grows rich as his cus- 
tomers grow poor.” 

Here was another thrust at Reuben, who 
took down his pipe and commenced filling it, 
preparatory to his usual smoke, which, for 
obvious reasons, he preferred enjoying in 
the barn that morning. 

O 

"Are you going to the village, to day?” 
asked his cousin, when she found he was 
likely to escape her. 

" Guess not,” lie replied ; although he had 
intended to go before noon. 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


103 


" Well, then, we can wait till to-morrow. 
I guess we shall have time after that to 
make the dress before I go back. There, 
Samanthy, I guess you’ll get your dress,” 
she added, as the door closed after the 
man and the pipe. 

"Perhaps I shall,” was the reply; "but I’d 
always rather go without anything than ask 
for it.” 

" Ask for it,” repeated Rhoda ; " if I 

wanted a dress, I’d have it. There’s no use 
in being afraid to take your rights in this 
world. I learned that a ^ood while ago. 
Half the men pay more for rum and tobacco 
than it would take to clothe their families, 
and then complain that they can’t get along, 
because the women folks are so extravagant.” 

Having said this in a somewhat excited 
tone, she commenced cutting and piecing with 
great energy, and before night a worn and 
rusty garment was transformed into quite a 
presentable dress. 

It was just completed when the sound of 
approaching bells was heard. " That is Mr. 


104 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


Gray,” said 11 ho da. " Miss Gray must be sick. 
1 heard a bell in my left ear last night, and I 
knew something would happen. 

She met Mr. Gray at the door, and in- 
quired for the health ot his wife, before he 
had an opportunity to speak. 

"She’s about as usual,*’ was the reply. 
"Of course we miss you ; but she gets along 
better than I expected. I got a letter for you 
this morning, and, as I was going to Nelson’s, 
I thought I’d come round this way, and bring 
it. It’s sealed with black, and I guess it 
comes from one of your uncles.” 

The reception of a letter was an event in 
the life of lihoda Smith, and she broke the 
large, black seal with trembling lingers. 

Mr. Gray came in to hear what news this 

i/ 

letter might contain. There were but few 
lines, announcing the death of the writer’s 
wife and daughters. These deaths had left 
him quite alone, with the exception of his ser- 
vants, and in his loneliness he thought of the 
niece whose existence he had before ignored. 

He expressed regret that they had so long 


OUT OF THE FIKE. 


105 


been strangers, and invited her to visit him. 
"I would visit you,” he said, in conclusion, 
"but I am too much of an invalid to go far 
from home.” 

When Khoda had read the letter, she gave 
it to Mr. Gray, saying, as she did so, "It’s 
rather late in the day to look me up. I’ve 
got along so far without my mother’s rela- 
tions, and I can the rest of my life.” 

" This uncle of yours is a rich man,” said 
Mr. Gray, as he returned the letter. " He 
was pretty well advanced in life before he 
married, and his daughters must have been 
quite young.” Then, after a moment’s 
thought, he added, " He was the oldest of 
the family, and that would make him more 
than seventy. As he says, he is a lonely old 
man, it might be for your advantage to go 
there.” 

" It’s no place for me,” she answered. " I 
wasn’t brought up in city fashions, and I’m 
too old to learn new ways.” 

"Perhaps not,” said her friend; "but we 
shall have plenty of time to talk about 


106 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


that after you come home. When shall 
we expect you?” he asked, rising to 
go. 

"I calculate to be back in two weeks 
from the time I came away, if nothing 
happens,” was the reply. 

The letter furnished a topic of conversation 
for the evening, and Rhoda recalled much that 
she had heard of her mother’s family. She 
knew they had all been wealthy, and that 
their children were well educated and ac- 
complished. 

It was well that a vision of Amy Hill rose 
before her at the thought of this, for her heart 
beat tumultuously at the contrast her own life 
presented. 

" I should think you’d go to see your 
uncle,” said Samantha. ” I’m sure I should, 
if I was in your place. He’ll leave his money 
to somebody when he dies.” 

”1 suppose he will,” answered Rhoda. 
" He can’t carry it with him, and I hope 
it will do some good when he’s gone. As 
for going there, I know too much to make a 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


107 


laughing stock of myself. If Uncle William 

O O %j 

wants to see me, lie can come where I 
am . ” 

"Guess you’d better go,” • said Reuben. 
"You might come in for a share of his 
property, if you managed right.” 

" I’ve been able to earn what money I 
needed, so far,” replied his cousin; "and 
if I have my health, I shan’t have to go 
begging to any of my relations, for the 
time to come.” 

The even tenor of her life was broken. 
The suggestions and counsel of Aunt Lizzie 
Balch had given rise to new thoughts and 

O O 

many regrets. 

Trial and discipline had neither subdued 
nor softened her naturally proud spirit. 
Obliged, by the circumstances in which she 
had been placed during her girlhood, to 
resist injustice, it was not strange that she 
had become harsh and unyielding. Forced 
to demand the consideration which should 
have been cheerfully given, she was, even 
now, inclined to be jealous of her rights. 


108 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


This made her overbearing, and all un- 
consciously she had indulged the feeling 
until it marred her whole character. 

Yet she had not known this. When people^ 
were praised for amiability, she attributed it 
to the fact that they had always been pros- 
pered. It was natural that such persons 


should thank God for all his mercies ; but, as 
for herself, her life had been too dark. 

During her visit to Amy Hill some scales 
fell from her eyes, and she was beginning 


to see her own heart. There was a struggle 
now between the newly awakened feelings 
and the bitter memories of her early days. 

She became silent, and was in danger of 
forgetting the business of the next day, 
when, turninsr towards an uncurtained win- 

7 O 

dow, she noticed the moonlight stream- 
ing through. 

"Fair weather to-morrow," said Reuben. 

"Then we can go to the village,” replied 
Rhoda. " Samanthy must have some of that 
merino at Starkey’s." 

"Then, I suppose that’s settled," said Reu- 


OUT OF TIIE FIFE. 


109 


ben, with a sorry attempt at a laugh. "You 
always would have your own way ; but it’s 
pretty hard for me to spare the money now.” 

"It can be charged to your account, if that 
suits you any better." 

"That won’t help the matter much. It’s 
got to be paid some time. I need some clothes, 
myself ; but I can’t afford to have them." 

" You might afford them, if — ’’ Here 

Rhoda stopped. 

"If what?" he asked, involuntarily. 

" If you would stop drinking. You know 
it as well as I do. The money you have paid 
Lang since he came here would settle all 
your debts, and give you something in hand. 
I didn’t mean to say anything more about 
that," she added, observing the distressed 
look upon the face of Mrs. Smith. "I have 
faults enough to look after of my own." 

This last conclusion astonished her com- 
panions. It was the first time they had 
heard her acknowledge so much, and Reuben 
looked at her as though half inclined to doubt 

O 

the evidence of his senses. " I guess we all 


110 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


have plenty of faults, if we could only see 
them,” he said, at length. " I’m sure I have.” 
"Then the best thing w r e can do is to 
mend them. I, for one, am going to try. 
Good-night.” 

The door closed. "That didn’t sound 
much like Khody ; I wonder what’s come 
over her ; I never heard her talk like that 
before.” 

"I guess she’s right, Keuben,” replied his 
wife. "We’d better follow her example.” 
"Well, Samanthy, I know things aint 
going right with us, and I’m the one to 
blame. Ehody hit the nail on the head 
about money. It’s true, every word of it, 
and I hardly know which way to turn.” 

"I can do without a dress, this winter.” 
"That won’t make much difference. You 
might as well have it. I wish sometimes 
that Lang and his crew were all out of the 
way. A man never knows how much he 
drinks till he comes to pay for it.” 

"I wish you’d give up drinking,” 
wife. 


said the 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


Ill 


"I wish I could.” 

The next moment he regretted this ex- 
pression. Abstinence for one day had proved 
almost unendurable. He had intended to go 
to the village, and his principal business was 
to buy liquor ; but, rather than take his wife 
and cousin with him, he had denied himself 
his usual indulgence. 

" Guess I made a fool of myself that time, ,, 
he muttered, when out of hearing. "Saman- 
thy won’t forget that very soon.” 

The next day proved as pleasant as had 
been anticipated. The dress was bought, 
Rhoda Smith paying for the trimmings. 

On their way home they called at the 
house of Dexter Rollins, and found his wife 
much better than they had expected. A 
decided improvement was also seen in the 
looks of the house and children. There 
had been a liberal use of soap and water, 
which was easily accounted for when Mrs. 
Rollins told her visitors that Aunt Lizzie 
came to see her the day before. 

" We’ve got lots to cat,” whispered the 


112 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


oldest girl to Mrs. Smith. "Father brings 
home something most every night, and he 
don’t ever scold a word. He washed the 
floor all up clean last night, and told me 
I musn’t let it get dirty a bit to-day.” 

"You’ve kept it looking very nice,” was 
the reply. 

" That’s what mother says, and I guess 
father’ll think I've been a good girl,” said 
the child, artlessly. 

The simple recital told of a wondrous 
change in this family, and Mrs. Smith lis- 
tened with great interest. She had known 
before that Dexter Rollins was at work, 
and she now felt sure that his wages were 
spent for the benefit of his family. 

This, though cause for rejoicing, but made 
her own lot seem harder. Even the praises 
so liberally bestowed upon the new merino 
could not dissipate her sadness. After all, 
the dress was of little consequence when 
she had no heart to wear it. 

Her visitor, on the contrary, seemed quite 
exhilarated, and no sooner were they at home 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


113 


than she set to work in good earnest, resolved 
to " have the job done right off.” " You've 
needed this long enough, not to wait for it 
now,” she said. 

" Guess Luther Balch and his wife will 
come here this evening,” said Reuben Smith, 
just before dark. "I saw him at the village, 
and he said they’d come. I'll make up a tire 
in the other room.” 

"No need of that,” said Rhoda. "It’s more 
comfortable here.” 

"Guess I’d better,” said the man. "They 
don’t come very often.” 

So the fire was made and the neighbors 
came in good season. Mrs. Balch brought 
her knitting, and, seated in the best rocking- 
chair, worked and talked with equal ease. 

For some reason, the men preferred the 
kitchen, and once when Rhoda went out 
for paper to cut a pattern, she heard the 
words, "Lang, mortgage.” 

Reuben Smith being deeply in debt, and 

unable to meet the demands against him, 

had applied to his neighbor for assistance, 
8 


114 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


offering to give him a mortgage upon his 
place as security. Mr. Balch had promised 
to think of the proposition, and came up 
that evening to talk the matter over. 

In anticipation of this interview, Reuben 
had refrained from drinking through the day, 
so that his head was much clearer than usual, 
and he saw his condition in its true liMit. 

His neighbor was a shrewd business man, 
and a prosperous farmer. More than this, 
he was a thoroughly good man, ever ready 
to lend a helping hand to those about him. 
It was this last trait which made him so often 
consulted in cases of difficulty and embarrass- 
ment. Every one knew that he would counsel 
wisely and act generously. 

Reuben Smith had applied to others for aid ; 
but all had failed him, and, as his last resort, 
he appealed to this man, from whom he must 
expect severe censure for his habits. 

"I should want a full statement of your 
affairs before I could do anything,” said Mr. 
Balch, pleasantly but tirmly. 

There was no reply to this. 

1 . 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


115 


" I must know who are your creditors, and 
to what amount,” he added. "I am always 
opposed to working in the dark.” 

No one could complain of this, and, after 
some hesitation, Reuben began his statement. 
He prefaced this, however, by attributing his 
condition to bad luck and poor crops. 

"Never mind that,” said his companion, 
with a gesture of impatience. He had heard 
enough of that before. 

One debt after another was enumerated, 
but nothing was said of Lang. 

"Is that all?” asked Mr. Balch, when his 
neighbor paused. 

"I suppose I’m owing Lang a little some- 
thing,” was the reply. 

" How much ? ” 

"I don’t know.” 

" Don't know ! ” repeated the questioner, in 
a tone of astonishment. " That’s bad ; but 
can’t you give something of a guess?” 

Reuben Smith shook his head. 

"I am disposed to help you,” said Mr. 
Balch; "but, as things are now, it would 


116 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


do no good. You know the cause of your 
troubles as well as I do. You wouldn’t 
have poor crops if you cultivated your land, 
and bad luck is another name for bad manao-e- 
ment.” 

Plain talking this ; but the man to whom 
it was addressed knew that it was the truth. 

"How much money have you paid Lang 
since he came into town?” asked Mr. Balch, 
determined, if possible, to bring his neighbor 
to a square confession. 

Another shake of the head, but no word of 
reply. 

" You must keep an account-book. You 
certainly can tell by referring tolhat.” 

"I never kept any account with him,” re- 
plied Reuben, in a low tone. 

" Worse yet. lS T o wonder you are in debt. 
Now, if I should advance the money you 
want, in a year’s time you would be worse 
off than you are now. If I could see any 
reasonable prospect of your trying to do 
better, I would gladly help you ; but as 
long as you patronize Lang without know- 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


117 


ing what lie charges to your account, it’s 
of no use.” 

" Guess lie’s honest,” said the arraigned 
man, not knowing what else he could say. 

" An honest rumseller is a character I 
never heard of, and I can assure you that 
Lang is no exception to the general rule. 
Ten chances to one but you’ve paid for 
twice the liquor you ever got of him.” 

A new idea took possession of Reuben 
Smith’s brain, and, in his haste to give it 
utterance, he did not see that in so doing 
he would criminate himself still more deeply. 
"His account is always a great deal larger 
than I expect,” he said, quickly. " I’ve told 
him so half a dozen times ; but he always 
makes it appear all right, so I’ve paid it.” 
"Poor way of doing business, — is’nt it, 
Reuben ? ” 

"Yes,” he replied, with a blush. "Guess 
I liaint been quite sharp enough for him.” 
Mrs. Smith now put an end to the con- 
sultation by inviting the gentlemen to ad- 
journ to the other ‘room. 


118 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 

"If you make any new plans, you can let 
me know, and remember that I shall be Had 
to help you when I can." Mr. Balch said this 
in a low tone to his neighbor, when they 
parted that evening, and its import was 
perfectly understood. He had not said in 
so many words, "I will do nothing for you 
•so long as you continue the habit of drink- 
ing;" but such was, evidently, his decis- 
ion. 

During the next two days, Ehoda Smith 
talked far more than usual concerning the 
fashions, while the relative merits of gathers 
and plaits were discussed at length by her 
cousin and herself. When the last stitch 
was taken in the new dress, which had 
been the object of so much anxiety, satisfied 
that something had really been accomplished 
during her visit, she was ready to return to 
Mr. Gray’s. 

Poor Mrs. Smith could hardly speak of her 
leaving, without tears, and even Reuben was 
sorry to have her go. Yet, punctually on the 
day appointed, the old bells were heard, and 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


119 


Amos ran to the window " to see Aunt Rhoda 
first. ” 

The kitchen had been put in the best order, 
that she might have no reason for finding 
fault ; but she did not seem to notice it. Her 
interest was entirely absorbed in the health 
and happiness of the family. Mrs. Gray ob- 
served that her voice was less harsh than 
usual, and that her face wore a softer expres- 
sion. 

She petted and caressed Amos to his heart’s 
content, and seemed impatient to see the older 
children. When they came, there was a longer 
delay than usual at the door, lest for want of 
care some tracks might be made upon the floor ; 
but, greatly to their surprise, Aunt Rhoda 
called to them to " come in, and not stop there 
scraping any longer.” 

The story of her life, which they had heard 
from their father, had so filled their hearts 
with sympathy, that they were prepared to 
humor all her whims, and on their way home 
that evening, Mattie and Elsie had decided to 
do "just what she wanted them to.” Their 


120 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


greeting was cordial, but very quiet, and they 
moved about noiselessly. 

This was just what would have pleased 
Ehoda a month before, but now she really 
longed to hear their voices in shouts of 
laughter. It troubled her to feel that her 
piesence was a restraint upon their actions. 

The change in her appearance was soon 
noticed, and Elsie whispered to her mother 

that Aunt Rhoda had grown pretty while 
she was away. 

" You’ve made a great improvement in the 
way of putting up your hair,” said Mrs. Gray. 
"The children think you’ve grown pretty. ” 

" I hope I’ve grown better,” was the unex- 
pected reply. "There was need enough of 

o 

it.” 

Mr. Gray was glad to see Rhoda, and said 
so, heartily, adding, "I don’t see how we can 
ever spare you so long again, unless you get 
married, or go to see your Uncle William. 
In either ot those cases, I suppose we must 
waive our claims.” 

" If that’s the case, you won’t lose me at 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


121 


present. I couldn’t find a better home, and 
I’ve no idea of visiting Uncle William.” 
"Then you must answer the letter very 
soon. That’s the least you can do.” 

"Dear me! I never can do that,” said 
Rhoda, in so mournful a tone as to provoke 
the laughter of the children ; and thus the 
subject was dropped. 

"Aunt Rhody, won’t you please to tell me 
some stories after supper?” asked Amos, in 
so loud a whisper as to be distinctly heard by 
all in the room. 

"What shall I tell about ?” asked Rlioda. 
"About the children where you went. I 
want to know if they ever make a litter. 
Mattie says I mustn’t any more. You don’t 
like to have a litter, — do you, Aunt Rhody ? ” 
Elsie, who was ever on the alert to catch 
the first intimation of a story, overheard this 
remark, and shook her head warningly. 
Amos expected a reply ; but none was given, 
and a call to supper soon made him forget that 
he had asked the question. 

Yet he did not forget to ask for the stories, 


122 OUT OF THE FIRE. 

/f 

to which he listened with almost breathless 
attention. Others listened with him, and, 
much to her surprise, Rhoda found herself 
giving an animated description of her visit. 

Mr. and Mrs. Gray were much interested 
in Amy Hill, and anxious to know of her 
situation. 

" She says everybody is very kind to 
them,” was the reply to a question con- 
cerning her means of support. "It seems 
to me, though, they must have a hard time 
to get along.” 

" We can send them something,” said 
Judson. "We have enough of everything, 
and we qan all work.” 

" We ivill send them something,” re- 
sponded Mr. Gray. 

"We will see, to-morrow, what we can 
find in the house that will be acceptable 
to them,” added Mrs. Gray. "Perhaps I 
shall be able to go down there when the 
weather is milder.” 

"Amy Hill is another orphan girl, — -isn’t 
she, father?” asked Elsie. 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


123 


" Yes,” was the reply ; "and she is a most 
unfortunate one. She has always been sick." 

" That’s a good deal worse than to be well 
like you, Aunt Rhody," said Amos, with the 
utmost simplicity. 

"I’ve found out that I’ve been very well 
off compared with Amy,’’ she replied. 
" ’Twould do me good to see her once a 
week, the rest of my life." 

"It would do us all good to see such 
an example of Christian faith and patience. 
We are all inclined to magnify our trials 
and overlook our mercies." 

Rlioda gave a decided nod of approval, 
as Mr. Gray said this ; her own experience 
testifying to its truth. 

The next morning she resumed her place 
in the family, taking the responsibility of the 
work, not as a burden, but as a pleasure, and 
the days passed on, unmarked by any event 
of special interest. Indeed, everything moved 
so smoothly that the children were disposed 
to complain of the monotony. 

Meanwhile, there was a neglected duty, of 


124 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


which Rhoda was often reminded. Her un- 
cle's letter remained unanswered. Having 
no desire to make his acquaintance, she did 
not wish to write to him, and, moreover, 
it was no easy task for her to prepare 
such a letter. An imperative sense of duty 
at last overcame her objections, and, after 
several unsuccessful efforts, she accomplished 
the task. 

"I’m glad it’s done,” she said, as she gave 
the letter to Mr. Gray. " It’s my first letter 
to any of the Daltons, and I guess ’twill be 
the last.” 

But, after this, she often thought of hei 
uncle, in his loneliness, and gradually a 
feeling of sympathy found place in her heart. 

The old pride was giving way, and a second 
visit to Amy Hill helped forward the good 
work. When the time came that Mr. Gray 
was going to the part of the town in which 
she lived, his wife was unable to ac- 
company him, and Skoda went in her 
stead. 

Sitting by the pleasant south window , she 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


125 


found her friend, who extended both her 
thin hands in Had welcome. 

"You came in the right time,” said Amy. 
"I was wishing to see you. After you were 
gone, the other day, I thought of a great deal 
to say to you. I didn’t half thank you for 
your generous gift.” 

"You’ve nothing to thank me for,” was the 
reply. "I only wish I’d come to see you be- 
fore. I believe I should have been better if 
I had, and I never want you to thank me 
again.” 

Mr. Gray came in with a most generous 
donation, and, as usual, it was just what 
was needed. Mrs. Lunt said the basket 
contained "a little of most everything, and 
a great deal of many things.” Each of the 
children had added to the store after their 
parents had made their selection. Amos 
sent the largest, rosiest apples he could 
find, while Judson contributed a book in 
which he had been himself much inter- 
ested. 

There was soft, warm flannel, cut from 


126 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


a web, recently sent home, and there were 
several skeins of fine, homespun yarn, all 
given gladly for the comfort of the invalid. 
In the way of food, also, there were many 
delicacies as well as substantial articles. 

But Mr. Gray, in his words of Christian 
sympathy, gave more than all these, and 
the prayer which he offered strengthened 
the hearts of these lone women, even more 
than the choicest food strengthens the 
body. 

"That prayer carried me almost to heaven,” 
said Amy, when the door closed behind their 
friend. "It’s always a comfort to hear Chris- 
tians pray.” 

For once, Bhoda Smith wished she was a 
Christian, that she might know the blessed- 

7 O 

ness of prayer. Morning and evening she 
had listened to Mr. Gray ; but the words 
of his petitions were unheeded. Others 
spoke of the humble, loving faith which 
always characterized his prayers; but her 
ears were dull that they did not hear. She 
could not respond to the joyous exclama- 


127 


OUT OF TIIE 1 IRE. 

tion of one whose trust was stayed on God, 
and to whom communion with him was 
the dearest earthly privilege. 

She was to wait there for Mr. Gray’s 
return ; and Mrs. Lunt, occupied in examin- 
ing the gifts they had received, left the 
friends to themselves, interrupting them only 
to exhibit her treasures. 

"Why, Amy, here are enough of some 
things to last you for years,” said her aunt, 
as she took the last package from the basket. 
"Mr. Gray and his wife will never want for 
the £ood things of this life. His word is 
sure, who said, 'Give, and it shall be given 
to you again.’ ” 

Amy seemed inclined to talk of her child- 
hood, and her companion was glad to hear 
how another had lived, bereft of father and 
mother. There were some parts of her life 
passed over in silence. They were too pain- 
ful to be recalled. 

"My father’s relatives were too poor to 
help me, and my mother’s family were all 
dead, except Aunt Milly. She was living 


128 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


with her husband then, and couldn’t give 
a home. When he died, she came here, 
and now I feel as though I had somebody 
to care for me.” 

This led Rhoda to speak of her own rela- 
tives, and the letter she had received. fr I don’t 
remember any of mother’s family,” she said. 
"They never cared anything about me, and I 
don't care about them. They might have 
taken care of mother, and then, perhaps, 
she would have lived. I don’t see what 
made Uncle William think of me now.” 

" Perhaps he has changed since he was 
younger, ’ replied Amy, gently. "He must 
be a lonelv old man. We, both of us, know 
what it is to be alone in the world.” 

"He has a great deal of money,” said Rhoda. 
"He can have everything he wants.” 

" Money won’t always buy the care and 
attention a sick person needs. Perhaps you 
might do him a great deal of good. It isn't 
right to cherish hard feelings,” added Amy, 
as she saw the flush on Rhoda's face. "It is 
better to forgive. We all do wrong.” 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


129 


"I know I do, for one,” replied Rhoda, 
with much feeling. "I wish I was better.” 
" That is my constant wish and prayer. I 
deserve nothing but punishment, yet every 
day I receive good from the hand of the 
Lord. lie puts it into the hearts of his 
children to supply my wants.” 

These words had hardly passed the lips 
of the speaker, when a spasm of pain con- 
vulsed her whole frame. Her aunt sprang to 
her assistance, making use of such remedies 
as had often before given relief. Rhoda lent 
her aid, and, after some moments of extreme 
suffering, the tense muscles relaxed, and the 
features resumed their natural expression. 

The struggles of the sufferer seemed to 
Rhoda like the very agonies of death, as 
she stood with hushed breath by the bed 
on which Amy had been placed. "Does 
she often have such attacks?” she asked, 
in a low voice. 

" She used to have them very often,” was 
the reply. " This is the first for several 
weeks, and I was in hopes she wouldn’t 
9 


130 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


have any more. It seems as though -she 
had suffered enough.” 

"God knows best,*’ whispered Amy, still 
submissive to his will. 

She was too much exhausted to say more, 
and Rhoda, having smoothed her pillow, and 
passed her hand caressingly over the beautiful 
golden hair, turned away with tearful eyes. 

" Have you everything you need, which 
money can buy?” she asked of Mrs. Lunt. 

" I think so,” replied the good woman. 
" We have some of the money left that you 
gave Amy. I had a little, myself, the first of 
January, and everybody seems to have re- 
membered us since then. We needed some 
flannel more than anything else, but thought 
we’d try and get along without till next fall.” 
Mr. Gray soon drove up, and Rhoda pre- 
pared to leave. Amy was able to say only a 
few words to her, but those few made a deep 
impression. 

During the ride home she was so little 
inclined to talk that her companions gave up 
all attempts at conversation. 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


131 


"Do you think 1 ought to go and see Uncle 
William?” she asked, abruptly, after a long 
silence. 

This question so astonished Mr. Gray that 
he waited for a moment before replying. " I 
suppose you ought to be the best judge in 
regard to that,” he said, at length. "If he 
writes again, urging you to come, I should 
favor your going.” 

"Then I'll wait till he writes again,” 
she said, glad to dispose of the matter 
thus easily. 

When she reached home, every member of 
the family wished to hear of Amy Hill. Even 
the condition of the plants, and the amount 
of sunlight streaming through the windows, 
must be reported. 

There was now a strong bond of sympathy 
between Aunt Rhoda and the children. Elsie 
told Judson, confidentially, that she believed 
something very strange was going to happen. 
"It’s something good, too, I know,” she 
added, "for 'I saw the moon over my right 
shoulder.” 


132 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


Her brothers laugh was supplemented by 
her own as she realized the absurdity of the 
reason she had given, but she still assured 
him that he would " see something strange 
before long.” 

Despite this prophecy, nothing remarkable 
transpired, except the ever-recurring miracle 
of spring. Then, sugar-making, with its 
labors and pleasures, absorbed the interest 
of all ; and, when this was over, the well- 
prepared ground received the seed that 
was to be quickened to a new life. April, 
with its fitful showers, and May, with its 
long sunny days, passed quickly ; June came, 
and the gladness of summer found an echo in 
every heart. 

On one of the brightest mornings of this 
flower-crowned month, the landlord of the 
village tavern drove towards Farmer Gray’s, 
wondering as he went. A gentleman had 
come to his house the night before, and from 
him he carried a letter to Rhoda Smith. 

This gentleman was a stranger, and the 

O o 7 

best efforts of the landlord had failed to 


OUT OF THE FIFE. 


133 


elicit the information he so much desired. 
The fashion of registering names had not 
reached this village, so that he was ignorant 
of even the name of his guest. 

Mr. Lang met Mr. Gray a short distance 
from his house. "I guess I’ve got a letter for 
one of vour folks,” he said. "A man came to 
my house, in the stage, last night, and this 
morning he inquired for a young lady by 
the name of Rhoda Smith. I couldn't think 
of anybody except the Rhoda at your house, 
but I never heard anybody call her a young 
lady.” 

Mr. Gray had no desire to prolong this 
conversation, and, taking the letter, turned 
back to the house, where he found Rhoda 
busilv engaged in butter-making. "Here 
is another letter from your Uncle William,” 
he said, as he held it before her. 

"I can’t stop to read it now,” she replied. 
"I suppose it can wait.” 

"I judge not,” said Mr. Gray. "Lang 
just brought it over, and he said the writer 
was at his house.” 


134 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 

" It can’t be that Uncle William is there.” 
"Read your letter, and you will know.” 

" Suppose you read it. My hands are 
full.” 

" Shall I break the seal ? ” 

"I wish you would,” said Rhocla. 

Mr. Gray opened the letter and read the 
contents aloud. 

William Dalton had come to his native 
village, and wished his niece to call upon 
him at "the hotel.” He was very much 
fatigued with his journey, and did not feel 
able to ride that morning. 

Rhoda had seated herself at the first word 
of the letter, and when the reading closed, 
she was too much astonished to speak. 

"You must £0 right over to the village,” 
said the reader. "I’ll harness up and go 
with you. We’ll bring vour uncle back 
with us, if he'll come.” 

" There’s no need of being in a hurry. 
I should like to know who’s going to take 
care of this butter if I go off ? ” 

This was said in a sharp tone, now^so 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


135 


rarely heard, which was, in itself, a proof 
that Rhoda was greatly excited. 

"I can take care of the butter,” said Mrs. 
Gray, coming in only in time to hear the last 
remark. 

Her husband told her of the arrival at 
the village, and she urged her friend not to 
lose any time in answering the message. 

" There’s a great deal of work to be done 
this morning,” objected Rhoda. 

" Never mind that,” was the reply. "That 
is no excuse for keeping your uncle waiting.” 

" You must wear your new dress, Aunt 
Rhoda,” said Elsie, who had found her way 
into the council. 

" I guess I’d better comb my hair before I 
think of a dress,” was the reply. 

For some reason she made slow progress 
in arranging her hair, and, had it not been 
for the assistance of Mattie, she would hardly 
have reached the village before noon. She 
wore the new dress, and Elsie was gratified 
by being allowed to arrange the collar and 
ribbon. 


136 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


" I never was so long getting ready be- 
fore,” said Rhoda, by way of apology, to 
Mr. Gray, as they started off. ”1 wish Uncle 
Will iam had stayed at home.” 

Her companion reassured her, and, by the 
time she reached the village, she was quite 
prepared to meet her relative. 

Mr. Lang was standing upon the piazza, 
and ushered her into the sitting-room. Pier 
uncle came in directly, leaning upon his cane, 
and seeming to walk with difficulty. "This 
is my niece,” he said, looking at her closely. 
" I should have known you anywhere, you 
are so like your mother. I am very glad io 
see you.” 

This allusion to her mother so affected 
Rhoda, that it was with a great effort she 
murmured a reply. 

"You were not expecting to see me this 
spring,” said her uncle. 

"No, sir, I never thought of your coming 
here.” 

"I never thought of it myself until a few 
weeks ago. I was afraid I shouldn't see you if 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


137 


I remained at home, so I felt obliged to come 
to you. I was very anxious to see you.” 

If Rhoda Smith could have honestly said 
that she was glad to see her uncle, she would 
have done so ; but, as she could not, she al- 
lowed him to do most of the talking. 

Mr. Dalton had seen much of the world, 
and, being a close observer of human nature, 
he read, at a glance, the character of his 
niece. He recognized the proud spirit, so in 
sympathy with his own, and calculated the 
possibilities of her life. 

She was not one to sue for favors, or ac- 
cept them unless cheerfully given. Perhaps 
she was different from what he had expected 
to find her, — if, indeed, he had any expecta- 
tions in regard to her. He knew that it was 
late to make amends for long neglect, and 
this made him ill at ease. 

He asked her of her home and prospects. 

"X work for what I have,” she replied, 
frankly. "My home has been at Mr. Gray’s 
for several years. He and his wife have 
always treated me like a sister.” 


138 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


r ' Gray,” repeated the gentleman. " I think 
I remember a family of that name. They 
were good people.” 

"Mr. Gray is a good man,” said Rhoda. 
"He came over with me, this morning. — 

J O 

There he is, just opposite,” she added, look- 
ing from the window. 

"I should like to speak with him,” replied 
her uncle, and Mr. Gray soon gave him an 
opportunity. 

He crossed the street, and opened the door 
of the room occupied by Mr. Dalton and his 
niece. Rhoda introduced the gentlemen to 
each other, and then left them, wdiile she 
went to the village store. 

The acquaintance progressed rapidly, and 
when she returned she found that her uncle 
had already consented to be the guest of Mr. 
Gray. 

"Perhaps I should first have asked my 
niece if such an arrangement would be agreea- 

o O 

ble to her,” he said, as he noticed the expres- 
sion of surprise with which this announcement 
was received. 


139 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 

" Mr. Gray has a right to invite what com- 
pany he pleases,” she replied, coldly. "I 
never interfere about that.” 

The next moment she regretted what she 
had said, and was glad to have her rudeness 
covered by the quick response of her friend. 

"I can assure you of one thing, Mr. Dal- 
ton, — Rhoda will give you some very nice 
things to eat, and take the best of care of 
you, if you are sick. She is famous both as 
nurse and cook.” 

" I have sadly needed a nurse during the 
last winter,” replied Mr. Dalton. " With 
wife and children gone, an old man like my- 
self is not likely to get very tender care. I 
used to think money would buy all that any 
one can need, but I’ve found out my mis- 
take.” 

The speaker looked directly at his niece 
while saying this. Their eyes met, and her 
heart gave a quick bound of sympathy, but 
she would not express it. 

At that moment, Mr. Gray saw a neighbor 
coming down the street in a lumber-wagon, 


140 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


and went out to speak with him. Returning 
directly, he told Rhoda that she could ride 
home with her uncle. 

" And how will you go? ” she asked. 

" With Mr. Brown. I shall be a little 
\ ter than you, but that will make no differ- 
ence. ” 

Rhoda was about to object to this, but up- 
on second thought, concluded to make the 
best of what was to her an unpleasant neces- 
sity. Mr. Dalton settled his bill with the 
landlord, had his trunk brought out, and was 
then ready to go. 

" I shall leave the driving to you,” he said 
to his niece. "I am glad to avoid all exer- 
tion.” 

Two or three times during the drive he 
made some remark in regard to the history 
of their family, but he found it impossible to 
engage his companion in conversation upon 
that subject. She grew, every moment, more 
and more uncomfortable, and most heartily 
did she wish that she had been permitted to 
go on with her butter-making that morning. 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


141 


She wondered how she could ever " get along 
with that man in the house ; ” what she should 
say to him ; while, most of all, she wondered 
how loner a visit lie would make. 

O 

Mrs. Gray was not surprised to see the 
stranger, whom she welcomed as cordially as 
she would a relative of tier own. The chil- 
dren were all presented to him, and, although 
much fatigued, he had a pleasant word for 
each, which quite won their hearts. 

A large, airy chamber was made ready, 
and when Mr. Gray arrived his guest seemed 
quite at home. As for Rhoda, she had taken 
off the new dress, and was hard at work. No 
one would have supposed that she was at all 
interested in the occupant of the sitling- 
• room. 

Mattie and Elsie offered to do anything 
that was necessary; but she refused all as- 
sistance. Mrs. Gray was troubled, yet she 
knew, by experience, that expostulation 
would be useless. Her husband, however, 
expressed his surprise, and Rhoda felt 
obliged to make some reply. 


142 


OUT OF THE FIFE. 


" 1 know I’ve been crabbed, this morning,” 
she said ; " but I can’t help it.” 

" I rather think you haven’t tried very 
much,” responded Mr. Gray, in a concilia- 
tory tone. 

" Well, I suppose I haven’t,” she answered. 
"The fact is, I don't see what Uncle William 
is up here after.'’ 

" He told me he came to visit a niece of 
his, and see if the country air wouldn’t bene- 
fit his health.” 1 

"He’s welcome to all the air he can get, 
but I must look after my work. I suppose 
he’ll want something to eat.” 

The dinner was one to tempt even a fas- 
tidious appetite. Small contribution could 
the garden make so early in the season, but 
what it gave was daintily prepared and deli- 
cately served. Rhoda fully sustained her ] 
reputation as a famous cook, and an op- 
portunity speedily offered for testing her 
skill as nurse. * 

The third morning after the arrival of Mr. 
Dalton he was unable to leave his room, and 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


143 


before night it was necessary to send for a 
physician. Obedient to the summons, Dr. 
Webb arrived, curious to see the man of 
whom he had heard so much ; but this cu- 
riosity was soon lost in interest as he saw the 
condition of his patient. 

"I’m afraid he’ll have a run of fever in 
spite of me,” he said, to Mr. Gray, as he 
came down from the chamber. "It will go 
hard with him at his time of life ; but per- 
haps Rhoda and I can bring him through. 
At any rate, we’ll try.” 

Rhoda immediately took her place in the 
sick-room, and for the next twenty-four 
hours devoted her whole time and strength 
to carrying out the doctor’s prescriptions. 
Her uncle seemed hardly to realize his con- 
dition until the shadows began to lengthen on 
the second day of his illness. Rousing him- 
self, he then asked Dr. Webb’s opinion in 
regard to^his probable recovery. 

"I can’t tell much about that yet,” was the 
reply. 

"I wish you to be frank with me,” said the 


144 


OUT OF THE FIFE. 


sick man. "I have important business to 
transact before I leave this world.” 

"It wouldn't be strange if this should 
prove your last sickness; but, with such care 
as you have, there is good reason to hope 
tluit you will recover. You are hardly in a 
condition to transact business,” added «the 
doctor. "Everything depends upon your 
being quiet.” 

"A great deal depends upon my business. 
It must be done at all risks, and the sooner the 
better. AY ill you call .Air. Gray?” he asked, 
looking at his niece. " I think he will stay 
witn me for a little while, and let you rest.” 

Air. Gray obeyed the call, and Air. Dal- 
ton, in few words, made known the business 
which demanded his attention. "I wish to 
leave the bulk of my property to my niece, 
Rhoda Smith, and I must make a will -to that 
eflcct. If you will send for some competent 
person to draw up the instrument, you will 
oblige me. And let there be no unnecessary 
delay. I should like to have 3011 remain, 
doctor,” he added. 


145 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 

Judson Gray was sent to the village with a 
message to Esquire Weston, desiring his pres- 
ence, without a moment’s delay. The empha- 
sis with which this was delivered quickened 
the usually slow movements of the lawyer, 
and, sooner than was anticipated, he had 
reached Mr. Gray’s, ready for the business 
in hand. 

No time was spent in formalities. Mr. 
Dalton was accustomed to act promptly, and 
before Esquire Weston had quite recovered 
from his astonishment at the terms of the 
will, it was duly executed, signed, and wit- 
nessed. 

An expression of satisfaction escaped the 
lips of the sick man. " Now, will you please 
call my niece?” he asked of Mr. Gray. 

Ehoda entered the room as the lawyer 
passed out, and her uncle desired her to open 
his trunk. "You will find the key in my 
dressing-case,” he said. 

She did as he desired. 

" There are some articles of dress I brought 

for you. Some of them belonged to my wife 
10 


146 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


and daughters. I wish you to take them out 
now.” 

Rhoda was about to reply, but her uncle 
anticipated her. " I am too tired to talk. 
They are all yours. Take them.” 

She took them from the trunk carefully, 
as though fearing to touch the rich fabrics, 

O O 7 

— shawls, silks, and laces, more elegant than 
any she had before seen. 

Such were the contents of the trunk, and 
all for one who had earned with her hands 
whatever she possessed. She hesitated to 
carry them from the room, until her uncle 
again desired her to accept them. 

" Carry them away and let him rest,” said 
Dr. Webb. " You are a poor nurse to 
trouble your patient in that way.” 

Even then, it was with reluctance she gath- 
ered up the articles, and took them away. 
With a bitter smile upon her lips, she deposi- 
ted them in the drawers of an old bureau, be- 
longing to her mother, and then returned to 
her post. 

It needed but a glance at the invalid to 


OUT OT THE FIRE. 


147 


convince her that he had exerted himself 
quite beyond his strength. The flush had 
deepened on his cheek, and he moved his 
head restlessly, as though suffering severe 
pain. lie motioned her to the bedside, and 
said, in a feeble voice, " I have neglected 
you too long, but I have tried to make 
amends for it. Think of me as charitably as 
you can.” 

"No more talking,” interrupted Dr. Webb ; 
"you’ve done too much of that already. 
This is bad business,” he added aside, to 
Mr. Gray. "I must go now. If there 

should be any change for the worse, send for 
me at once. At present, the patient needs 
rest more than anything else.” 

While this was being said, Rhoda hastened 
downstairs and asked Judson to bring some 
water from the cold spring. This spring, 
which came bubbling up through the pure, 
white sand, was in a clump of evergreens, 
whose dense shade permitted no ray of sun- 
light to penetrate its retreat. 

It was quite a distance from the house, but 


148 


OUT OF THE FIEE. 


no one considered it a task to go there. The 
task was in leaving so delightful a spot. 
Elsie, who had a troublesome habit of dream- 
ing while wide awake, often lingered there 
so long that some other member of the family 
was sent to call her home. Judson, too, had 
a fancy for seating himself on a rustic bench 
near the spring, and forgetting the working 
world about him. 

Aunt Rhoda had often complained of this ; 
but she had no cause to complain that even- 
ing. Judson was back in the shortest possi- 
ble time, and, a few minutes later, the cool 
water had relieved the burning thirst of the 
sick man. " That is like the water of the 
old well. I must drink from the old well, 
if — ” 

Here his mind wandered, and through the 
long night he talked, sometimes of his moth- 
er, sometimes of wife and children ; but 
always incoherently. Mr. Gray and his 
niece watched beside him, bathing his 

J O 

fevered brow, and soothing his disquiet. 

With the morning came Dr. Webb, who 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


149 


shook his head gravely, and pronounced it a 
serious case. "The Daltons have strong 
constitutions/’ he said. " That is the only 
thing in his favor. But we shall see. We 
shall see ; Rhoda’s nursing is wonderful.” 

There was but little change during the 
next two weeks, except that the patient 
seemed gradually losing strength. The in- 
terest of the whole family was enlisted in his 
behalf, and not one but listened eagerly to 
every word concerning him, glad to render 
any possible service. 

The decisive day came. The struggle be- 
tween life and death would soon be over. 
Scarcely a footfall could be heard in the 
house. Voices were hushed, while the feeble 
pulse was numbered and the quivering breath 
noted . 

"He will live,” at length whispered the 
doctor, as a dewy moisture overspread the 
sick man’s face, and the faint breathing grew 
more regular. 

Each heart beat more freely. She, whose 
untiring care and devotion had, under God, 


150 


OUT OF THE FIRE . 


clone much to insure this result, was almost 
overpowered by the welcome-words. Through 

all she had maintained an outward compos- 

% 

lire, entirely at variance with the inward 
tumult of her thoughts ; but now her stoicism 
gave way. She went to her own room, and 
there shed such tears as ever brine: a blessed 
relief to the overwrought feelings. 

How she longed to sit down by Amy Hill, 
tell her the strange experience of the last 
weeks, and ask her sympathy ! 

No need was there of asking. Could she 
have seen this friend even for a moment, 
she would have learned that sympathy was 
given imasked ; while hourly prayer ascended 
that by all the discipline of life she might be 
made purer and better. 


IY. 


“ Sin can bind no chains so firmly, 

But will } 7 icld, when grace divine, 
Sought in prayer, with spirit, lowly, 
Buies, and sanctifies the mind.” 


Mr. Dalton’s visit, illness, and history 
were themes of conversation throughout the 
quiet town in which the scenes of my story 
are laid. 

Fabulous stories were told of his wealth. 
Esquire Weston was repeatedly questioned 
in regard to the object of his visit, and many 
confidently affirmed that Rkoda Smith would 
be a rich woman when her uncle died. 

A few weeks before this, Mrs. Lunt and 
her niece had been objects of special interest. 
A small amount of property, left by her hus- 
band, had enabled Mrs. Lunt to purchase the 
house in which she lived with two acres of 
land adjoining. 


151 


152 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


With the exception of the fruit gathered 
from a few old apple-trees, this land was of 
little benefit to the owner. Those upon 
whom she had depended proved unreliable, 
and the ground had nearly run to waste. 

Mv. Gray suggested to some of the men in 
that part of the town, that it would be only 
an act of neighborly kindness to see that this 
land was properly cultivated. Acting upon 
this suggestion, they had, early in the season, 
made preparation for planting, Mr. Felton 

engaging to have this done at the proper 
time. 

l>y what seemed a mere accident, Dexter 
Rollins was the only man whose services he 
could command for this work; yet, being 
sober, he was a host in himself. 

His employer drove down with him, c a lay- 
ing a large pail, filled with well-cooked food. 

" 1 ou needn’t have brought that,” said 
Mrs. Lunt. f It’s enough for our friends to 
do the work, without boarding themselves.” 

" That’s some of my wife’s business,” 
the reply. 


was 


OUT OF THE FIKE . 


153 


Amy looked up with a smile, as she said ; — 
"Your wife has a great deal of such busi- 
ness. She must have thought Mr. Rollins a 
wonderful eater, if that is his provision for 
one day.” 

" I intended to have some one with him, 
hut was disappointed. Wife sent some 
coffee. You know Rollins has been a terri- 
ble drunkard, and he isn’t more than half 
reformed yet. Some good, strong coffee 
will be a great help to him.” 

Amy desired to hear more concerning the 
partial reformation of this man. Mr. Felton 
told her of the promise made to Aunt Lizzie. 
"Dec kept it faithfully too,” he said; "but, 
at the end of the time, Lang got him into his 
bar-room again. It was all over then. He 
seemed possessed of a very demon, and 
abused his family shamefully. He was out 
of the shop until I lost all patience with him ; 
but for the sake of his w r ife and children, -I 
persuaded him to come back and go to work. 
Since then, he has drunk by spells, though, 
on the whole, he is doing better than for sev- 


154 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


eral years. If it wasn’t for Lang, there’d be 
some hope for him.” 

"I wish it would do for me to talk to 
him,” said Amy, her eyes filling with tears. 
"I pity his children so much, I long to do 
something to help them.” 

Well might she pity them. She had been 
a drunkard’s child, and knew how terrible 
was such a lot. She shuddered, even now, as 
she thought of the blows inflicted by a 
father’s hand, and the long days of suffering 
which followed. 

"You may be the very one to help Dec 
Rollins,” replied Mr. Felton, after a mo- 
ment's consideration. "I hope you’ll try, at 
any rate. You always seem to say the right 
things.” 

All the morning, Amy Hill thought of the 
man who worked within siidit of her window. 
When the sun reached the noon mark, her 
aunt called him to dinner ; but she had not 
yet decided how to address him upon the 
subject which lay so near her heart. 

lie, too, had been thinking, wishing that 


OUT OF THE FIFE. 


155 


he could cut his dinner under the shade of a 
tree. If some one was with him, he would 
not mind entering the house ; but alone, he 
felt ill at ease. This was evident from his 
appearance. 

He came in awkwardly, answering the 
greetings of Amy without raising his eyes to 
her face. 

When seated at the table, Mrs. Lunt, as 
usual, invoked the blessing of God, asking 
that the food then eaten might strengthen 
them to do his service. 

It seemed to Dexter Rollins that this peti- 
tion was offered especially for him, and that, 
thereby, the food was consecrated. 

He ate in silence, fearing lest, by some 
awkward movement, he might leave a stain 
upon the snowy cloth, or jostle the nicely 
arranged dishes. The eagerness with which 
he drank several cups of coffee showed that 
Mrs. Felton was right in supposing it would 
be just what he needed. 

Mrs. Lunt tried to engage him in conver- 
sation, but he answered only in monosylla- 


156 


OUT OF THE FIKE. 


l)Ies. They seemed to have no interests in 
common, and Amy, quite discouraged at her 
aunt’s failure, began to think there would be 
no opportunity for her to speak a fitting 
word . 

Dinner was over, and he was risintr from 
the table, when she made some remark, ex- 
pressing her thanks for the kindness they 
had received from their neighbors. " We 
are well eared for, she said. " This farm in o* 
is a great help to Aunt Milly. You see I am 
only a burden, and she has everything to do 
herself. Last year, I was able to pick a few 
apples from the lower limbs of some of the 
trees near the house, and I hope to do as 
much this year.” 

"The children might pick your apples for 
you,” replied Dexter Rollins. "Mine would 
be glad to, if they lived near.” 

"The children about here do pick some of 
them, and they do a great deal for us be- 
side. I wish your children were nearer; I 
should like to see them. I've heard that 
they are. very smart.” 


OUT OF TIIE FIRE. 


157 


The man was not so brutalized as to hear 
this praise entirely unmoved. For the first 
time he looked directly at the speaker. 
"You must be quite proud of your children,” 
she continued, with a smile. "Mary Burns, 
who taught your school last summer, says 
they are bright scholars. I hope you’ll give 
them a chance to learn.” 

"I should like to,” said the father, absent- 

h r - 

" I’m glad to hear you say that. Some 
parents seem not to care about the education 
of their children. I’m glad to find one who 
does care.” 

This was strange language to be addressed 
to one who often failed to provide necessary 
food for his children ; but Amy Hill knew 
the weak points in human nature. 

" I didn’t have much chance for schooling, 
myself,” answered her companion. "I was 
put to work.” 

"I know you lost your father when you 
were young ; but I presume your mother did 
all she could for you.” 


158 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


" My mother tried to do for me,” said the 
mail, with a slight quiver in his voice. 

"Your mother was a "ood woman, and 
mothers are the best friends we can ever 
have,*’ replied Amy. 

" I’m sure that I lost my best friend when 
my mother died. I didn’t know it though, 
till she was gone. I used to think she was 
too strict ; but I’d do anything to please her, 
if she’d come back, now.” 

" Our friends can never come back to us 
from the grave,” said Amy, tenderly; "but 
we can show our affection for them by doing 
what they would approve if they were living. 
Your mother wished you to do right in all 
things,” she added, slowly, and then waited 
for a reply. 

"Yes, she did,” was the answer. "I guess 
it’s better she died. She’d only been miser- 
able if she’d lived. I’ve been a bad man.” 

The speaker was nearly as much surprised 
at this confession as the listener. Tt was 
the spontaneous outburst of a heart that real- 
ized its guilt. In the presence of this pure, 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


159 


earnest Christian he had involuntarily ac- 
knowledged his sin, and he looked to see her 
shrink from him with loathing. 

Not thus had she learned Christ. " You 
cannot lie all bad,” she said. 

"All bad,” he repeated. "Yes, I am all 
bad. You would say so, too, if you knew.” 
"I know you have one very bad habit,” re- 
plied his companion. "I wish you could be 
persuaded to give it up.” 

" I’ve a good many bad habits ; but I sup- 
pose I know which you mean. I’m trying; 
but it’s up-hill work.” 

" God will help you, if you ask him,” mur- 
mured a gentle voice. 

o 

There was no reply to this, and Amy 
feared she had gone too far. " I hope you 
are not offended with me,” she said, after a 
short pause. 

"Not at all,” he answered. "I know my 
duty, if I don’t do it.” 

He took his hat and went out. It was 
wonderful what an amount of labor he accom- 
plished that afternoon. The unrest of his 


1G0 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


thoughts spurred him on, and, before the 
early supper hour, he had done a full day’s 
work. 

Mrs. Lunt, who had purposely absented 
herself during his conversation with Amy 
at noon, anxious not to appear unsocial, 
asked his advice in regard to the manage- 
ment of her garden. At home on this sub- 
ject, and glad to give information, he spoke 
without embarrassment. 

" \ ou understand gardening so well you 
must have a good garden yourself,” said 
Amy. 

"I mean to have a good one this year,” he 
answered. 

”1 suppose it’s all planted long before this.” 
" It isn’t even ploughed yet. I’ve been 
working for other folks instead of myself. I 
must see to it as soon as I get through here.” 
" It’s poor economy to neglect the garden,” 
responded Mrs. Lunt. f? Men are a little apt 
to do so when they have a good deal of busi- 
ness on hand. They don’t think so much 
about it as women do.” 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


161 


Only the evening before Dexter Rollins’ 
wife had asked him about " making the gar- 
den,” and he had replied with an oath. Now, 
he intended to have a good garden, and was 
impatient to set about it. 

When he reached home he stood some 
time looking at the neglected piece of ground 
back of the house, occasionally driving a nail 
in .the rickety fence. As he did this, he 
thought of what had been said to him that 
day. He had replenished his jug the day 
before, but, knowing where he was to work, 
had refrained from drinking in the morning, 
promising himself an extra allowance at night. 

Night had come. His thirst was almost 
maddening. He had the means of gratifying 
it, yet he hesitated. He was to go to Mrs. 
Lunt’s to-morrow, and perhaps Amy Hill 
would ask him if he had been able to resist 
temptation. 

”1 can do it,” he said to himself. " I ivill 
do it,” he said, a moment later. 

During this time not one of his children 
went to him. As they caught the first sight 
11 


162 


OUT OF TIIE FIRE. 


of him coming up the lane, they ran into the 
house, and now peeped shyly through the 
small windows. 

It was growing dark, yet still the father 
paced the narrow flat of ground before the 
door. At length, his attention was arrested. 
Some one had been planting on his premises. 
Here were twelve hills. He took the 
trouble to count them. They might be of 
corn, or potatoes, but, whatever they were, 
each one was eloquent with a dumb reproach. 
They were guarded by miniature fences. His 
children must have done that. He entered 
the house, but the stillness within was more 
impressive than that without. 2s o one wel- 
comed him. His wife, only too glad to have 
him silent, did not even raise her eyes from 
her work. He wished she would say some- 
thing, and give him an opportunity to tell 
her his plan about a garden. But she worked 
on, seemingly unconscious of his presence. 
The children crept noiselessly to bed. 

" I see you've been planting,” he said, after 
waiting in vain for his wife to speak. 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


163 


"Yes,” she replied, in a half-frightened 
tone. " I planted a few hills of potatoes.” 

" All right,” answered her husband ; " but I 
mean to have a good patch of potatoes. I’m 
going to have the land ploughed to-morrow or 
day after. I’ll see if I can’t raise something 
this year.” 

She wished to reply to this, but she could 
not control her voice to utter a word. She 
bent her head lower over the old garment she 
was repairing, and allowed herself to hope 
for better days. 

The first rays of light the next morning 
found Dexter Rollins up, and ready for the 
long walk before him. He looked into the 
little cupboard. There was only a piece of 
corn bread. He wondered what his wife and 
children would have for dinner. There were 
a few potatoes in the cellar, but no meat. 
This was but poor provision for a family of 
i five ; not enough for one comfortable meal. 
At Mr. Felton’s, he found breakfast ready, — 
a good, substantial breakfast, with plenty of 
; coffee and cream as an accompaniment. 


164 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


" Never starve a man if you want him to 
work well,” was Mr. Felton’s motto ; and no 
one who sat at his table had reason to com- 
plain. 

" You don’t seem to eat well this morn- 
ing, Rollins; what’s the matter? ” he asked. 
"Take another cup of coffee. I think it’s 
worth drinking myself.” 

It was worth drinking, but, for some rea- 
son, Dexter Rollins did not relish it as 
usual. He was thinking of his home, of the 
poor and insufficient food there. 

" Shall you get through down there to- 
day?” asked his employer. 

"Yes, by noon, or a little after,” was the 
reply. " Then I should like to go home and 
do something to my own land.” 

Mrs. Lunt found she must have dinner in 
£ood season, or Dexter Rollins would be 
gone. Just as he left the field it was ready, 
and, despite his assurance that he was not 
hungry, she insisted upon his coming in. 

Amy spoke to him, but did not leave her 
chair. She was suffering more than usual. 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


165 


With her customary patience, she made no 
complaint, yet she could not control the ex- 
pression of her face. The white lips quivered 
with pain, and the thin hands were clasped 
convulsively. 

The attention of her aunt was fixed upon 
her even while she sat at the table, and 
several times she went to her, sometimes ex- 
pressing her sympathy in words, and some- 
times with a caressing touch of the hand. 

The pale face of Amy Hill touched the 
heart of the man who had cared so little for 
the sufferings of those bound to him by the 
closest ties. Ilis eyes wandered to her con- 
stantly, and he could not forbear expressing 
his sympathy. 

" It is hard,” she said, in reply ; "but God 
helps me. He never puts any more upon us 
than we can bear, if we look to him for 
strength. I have always suffered, and have 
learned where to go for help. You won’t 
forget what I said to you yesterday,” she 
added, still anxious to save him. "I shall 
pray for you. That’s all I can do.” 


166 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


" I’ll try to come down some time, and help 
you about your garden,” lie said to Mrs. 
Lunt, as he went out of the house. 

He started for home, walking rapidly, that 
he miMit have the more time for work. 
Fortunately, he had ail opportunity to ride 
part of the way, so that it was but little past 
noon when he stopped at Mr. Batch’s to ask 
if he could have the oxen and plough. 

"To be sure you can,” was the reply. "I’m 
glad you want them. The ground round 
your house is worth cultivating. It will bear 
good crops if it’s well taken care of. Been 
down to work for Mrs. Lunt, I heard. How 
is Amy? ” he asked. 

" She looks to me as though she was most 
£one said Dexter Rollins. " I shouldn’t 

o 7 

think she could live but a short time.” 

" She has looked so for a good many of 
years,” said his companion. "It seems hard 
that she should suffer as she does because her 
father was a brute.” 

" What did her father have to do about 
it ? ” 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


167 


"I don’t know as I ought to speak of it,” 
said Mr. Balch, with some hesitation. "Her 
mother never liked to have anything said 
about it ; but I suppose the truth is that Hill 
threw Amy out of the window when she was 
about four vears old, and she never could 
walk after that without crutches. She wasn’t 
a healthy child before ; but that made her a 
cripple.” 

The listener’s eyes flashed. " Hill deserved 
hanging for that,” he said, impatiently. 

" He was drunk when he did it,” replied 
Mr. Balch. "Men do some terrible things 
when they are drunk. Drinking liquor isn’t 
very safe business. Not very profitable, 
either, except to the man who sells it. But 
I am forgetting your business. When do you 
want the plough and oxen? ” 

"This afternoon, if you can spare them, 
and — ” 

" What is it ? Anything else wanted ? ” he 
asked, seeing the hesitation of his neigh- 
bor. 

" I’m ashamed to ask for anything else, but 


168 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


I do want some pork ; if Gocl spares my life 
I’ll pay for it.” 

" You can have the pork, but mother gave 
Lizzie as much as she could carry home this 
morning. She came down after vinegar to 
eat on some greens your wife was cooking. 
Mother found out she hadn’t any meat, so she 
sent some to her.” 

" Then I won’t take any more, but I’ll pay 
for it all the same.” 

"Well, you can take the oxen out of the 
barn, and, if you don’t get done this afternoon, 
you can have them again to-morrow.” 

Dexter Rollins put the yoke upon the necks 
of the oxen, and the plough upon his own 
shoulder. 

"Look at that man,” said Mr. Balch to his 
mother, as he went out of the yard. " I sup- 
posed, of course, he would take the cart. 
There are but few men in town who would 
carry that plough ; but it's nothing for him. 
His strength is wonderful.” 

" The more sin in abusing it,” replied the 
good woman. 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


169 


The man did not feel burdened with the 
load upon his shoulder, but the load upon his 
heart well-nigh staggered him. 

A few days before, little Mercy, his young- 
est child, had come up to him and laid her 
hand upon his knee. Something had irritated 
him, and, taking her by the shoulder, he threw 
her upon the floor, muttering something about 
brats always being in the way. Her mother 
caught her up and carried her to another room, 
where she hushed her cries. 

He had entirely forgotten this circumstance 
until Luther Balch told him the story of Amy 
Hill. Now that he thought of it, he couldn’t 
remember that he had seen Mercy since. He 
hastened on, almost dreading to meet her, yet 
impatient to know if she, too, was a crip- 
I pie. 

i 

" Guess you’ve got a pretty heavy load,” 
said Reuben Smith, as his neighbor was going 
I by the field in which he was at work. He 
leaned upon his hoe preparatory to having a 
talk ; but in this he was mistaken. There was 
I no loitering for Dexter Rollins that afternoon. 


170 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 

Straight to his home he went and inquired for 
Mercy. 

" I don’t know where she is now,” replied 
his wife. '’She was here a minute ago.” 

"Mercy ! ” called her father, but no one an- 
swered. He called again with no better suc- 
cess. 

Little Mercy was under the bed, in the 
farthest corner, and she had not the slightest 
idea of answering. 

o 

"Is anything the matter with her?” asked 
the father. 

"Not as I know of,” w T as the reply ; "and, 
too, it seems as though she hadn’t been quite 
so well for a day or two ; she’s wanted me to 
hold her a good deal.” 

O 

" Where is she ? ” asked the father, now 
more anxious than before. 

The mother’s fears were roused, and she 
called the name of her child loudly. Still no 
response. " Perhaps she’s gone after the other 
children. They went out a little while ago. 
I’ll go and see.” 

They both left the house, and Mercy kept 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


171 


still, too much frightened to move even had 
she been so disposed. After an unsuccessful 
search, the parents returned, Lizzie coming 
with them. She, understanding the habits of 
her sister, lifted the old quilt and revealed her 
hiding-place. 

"Why, Mercy,” said the father; "come 
right out of there ; come,” he repeated, »oax- 
ingly ; but she made no movement. " What 
ails her?” he asked. 

"She’s afraid of you,” said Lizzie, with sud- 
den boldness. " She’s afraid you’ll strike her 
a^ain.” 

Without another word he left the house, as 
thoroughly wretched as a man could well be. 
His first act was to dash the old brown jug 
against a stone. He stood looking at the 
fragments for a moment, and then went to his 
work. Two or three times he was upon the 
point of going in to look after Mercy ; but 
the remembrance of her fright prevented 
him. 

For supper they had what remained of the 
dinner. This was just such a supper as this 


172 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


mail usually relished ; but he found it impossi- 
ble to eat that afternoon. 

Little Mercy was missing ; not now under 
the bed, but tucked up behind a box in the 
children’s room. Her father did not ask for 
her. He went a^ain to his work, and it was 
quite dark when he drove the oxen back to 
their owner. 

" All done? ” asked Mr. Balch. 

" Yes,” was the reply ; " I just made out to 
finish.” 

" You’ve worked well ; I wonder how much 
you could do in the course of a year if you 
should really set about it.” 

" I’ll show you if I live another year,” he 
said, half to himself, and then left his neigh- 
bor to wonder what these words could mean. 

Reuben Smith w r as hanging over the fence, 
waiting for him, when he went back. ” Hal- 
lo, Dec! wait a minute, can’t you?” he ex- 
claimed, as the man thus addressed was about 
to pass without noticing him. 

" Can’t stop,” was the reply. ” Got some- 
thing to do at home.” 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


173 


" Let it wait ; there’s no use working your- 
self to death.” 

" Better work to death than drink to death ; 
but I’ve made up my mind not to do either.” 

Seeing that there was danger of losing an 
opportunity to gossip, Reuben went out to 
the road, and there, pipe in hand, began to 
inquire how things were going on at Felton’s. 

"It’s no use trying to keep me,” said his 
companion. "I’m bound for home.” 

"Stop and have a drink; I got my jug 
tilled yesterday.” 

"And I broke mine to-day. So there’s 
the difference between us.” 

" I hope there wasn’t much in it,” said 
Reuben, with unaffected concern. 

" Pretty near full ; I hadn’t had but one 
drink out of it.” 

" You ought to carry a steadier hand than 
that at your age. Lucky I’ve got some,, 
Come, have a drink.” 

"I don’t want any of your liquor ; I’m go- 
ing home, and I may as well tell you about 
that jug. I broke it because I wanted to.” 


174 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


Having said this, Dexter Rollins strode up 
the hill. 

" Guess he’s got another temperance spell,” 
muttered Reuben. "He’ll get over it, pretty 
soon, though. Pity he broke the jug. He’ll 
have to buy another.” 

Not a child to be seen in the home of 
Dexter Rollins. "What have you got to eat 
to-morrow?” he asked of his wife. 

"Pork and potatoes, and I suppose the 
children can get some more greens.” 

" That all ? Xo bread ? ” 

"We had the last on the table to-uight, 
and Pve no meal nor flour.” 

He had a little change in his pocket. He 
gave it all to his wife, and asked her to go to 
Reuben Smith’s in the morning, and get some- 
thing to make bread. " Get some butter, too, 
if she’ll trust you. I shall have some more 
money as soon as I get done planting, and 
go back to work.” 

Mercy Rollins looked first at her husband, 
and then at the money, quite as much aston- 
ished as Reuben Smith had been an hour before. 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


175 


'There was no explanation, but she rejoiced 
in so much good. 


"Tin in no hurry for breakfast,” said her 
husband, the next morning. "Perhaps you 
could go down to Smith’s and get some flour.” 


Glad to oblige him, she went, and they 
had a better meal than had been seen in the 
house for a long time. Mercy came to the 
table, sitting as close as possible to her moth- 
er, and hardly looking up. 

There was an era in Dexter Rollins’ life. 
He spent a day at home without speaking a 
crossword, and the next morning reached 
the shop before any other workman had ar- 
rived. Mr. Felton had come down to look 
after some machinery, so there was an oppor- 
tunity to say to him what he had been revolv- 
ing in his own mind. 


I will not detail the conversation. It was 
what might be expected between two such 
men upon such a subject. " Why have you 
come to this decision?” asked Mr. Felton, 

when all had been told. " What new influ- 

. « 

ence has been brought to bear upon you?” 


176 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


” Amy Hill set me to thinking,” was the 
reply. 

f Only waiting,” — this was what sweet 
Amy Hill said of herself ; but, laid up on 
high, there was another record. No one else 
could have so influenced this hardened man ; 
and no brother had ever so moved the heart 
of Rhoda Smith. 

\ et they were only two of the many for 
whom she prayed. When she heard of Mr. 
Dalton’s sickness she prayed that his life 
might be spared, or, if appointed to die, that 
he might die the death of the Christian. Sin- 
cere was her thanksgiving when she heard 

from Dr. Webb that the dreaded crisis had 
passed. 

r Rhoda is nearly worn out,” he said, in 
reply to a question of her friend ; " but this 
sickness ot her uncle’s has been the greatest 
blessing of her life. She has done for him 
what no one else could do, and she will be a 
better woman for it.” 

She was a better woman. The old bitter- 
ness which had so warped and marred her 


177 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 

character was nearly gone. She had thought 
herself too strong to weep. Tears were now 
often in her eyes ; but they were tears of 
joy; joy that, at last, she could see that 
"God knows best.” 

The days of her uncle’s convalescence were 
pleasant days both to him and her. If a 
sense of duty had first moved him to seek 
her, it was a far different feeling that made 
him wish to keep her always with him. He 
missed her when she left him only for a few 
minutes. 

Another had taken her place in the kitchen. 
"No more such work for you,” said her 
uncle. " It is as much as you can do to look 
after me.” 

But for all that she did find time to re- 
lieve Mrs. Gray of some care, and keep a 
sharp lookout upon the doings of her suc- 
cessor. 

The first day Mr. Dalton was able to go 
below stairs there was quite a jubilee in the 
house. The whole family were anxious to 
do honor to the occasion. Elsie spent half 


178 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


the morning hunting for the largest strawber- 
ries to be found on the farm, and came back 
with her clothes in such a condition as would 
once have called forth one of Rhoda’s severest 
lectures. 

Now she was praised, her berries admired, 
and a promise given that the clothes should 
be made all right. " That’s a good deal better 
than scolding,” said Elsie to herself. "And 
I stayed half an hour at Cold Spring too. 
Dear me, I hope Aunt Rhoda won’t go away ! ” 

So they all hoped, but there was danger 
of such an event. Mr. Dalton began to talk 

O 

of going home, and his niece was included in 
all his plans. 

When he was first taken sick, he desired 
Mr. G ray to write to his partner and his 
house-keeper. He had received some letters, 
and these he had been able to answer, so that 
his friends knew of his improved health. 

” You must not leave us until summer is 
gone,” said Dr. Webb. "You are much bet- 
ter off here than you can be in the city, even 
in your own home,” 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


179 


Mr. and Mrs. Gray, too, urged him to re- 
main, and, after considerable discussion, in 
which the words, "money” and "board” 
were frequently heard, it was settled that he 
should remain until September. 

It was already the last of July, so there 
were less than two months to come of this 
visit, which was to have a powerful influence 
upon so many lives. Time plied the shuttle 
swiftly, mingling gray threads with golden, un- 
mindful of sorrowinghearts and blighted hopes. 

The old man grew stronger in the clear, 
healthy atmosphere, and younger in his inter- 
course with the children, with whom he was 
usually surrounded. There was a good deal 
of stateliness in his manner, when at home ; 
but here, he met all cordially and heartily. 
There were a few men in town who remem- 
bered him as a boy. Some of these called 
upon him before he was able to go out, and 
i others he afterwards visited. 

He talked with Mr. Gray in regard to his 
sister, — Rhoda’s mother, — and learned 
much concerning the last years of her life. 


180 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 

Aunt Lizzie can tell you more about 
her,” said his host. " She was one of your 
sister’s confidential friends.” 

His conscience smote him more severely 
for the neglect ot this sister, when he heard 
of the hardships she had endured. 

f There was hardly another girl in town of 
Khoda’s capabilities,” said Mr. Gray. " She 
was always at the head of her classes in 
school, although she could never get there in 
season. But she was laughed at and ridi- 
culed till she lost all confidence in herself, 
and tried to slink away out of sight. People 
called her homely ; and she was told of 
this so otten by her cousins, that she thought 
it her fault, and I really believe she was 
ashamed to be seen.” 

"Xo decent person would ever treat a 
child like that,” said her uncle, indignantly. 
Then, almost in the same breath, he added, 
" I ought not to condemn others when my 
own guilt is so much, greater. This treat- 
ment must have had a great influence upon 
her. I wonder she was not ruined.” 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


181 


" She is not ruined,” replied his companion ; 
"but she is a very different woman from what 
she would have been under favorable circum- 
stances.” 

"Of course she is,” responded Mr. Dalton. 
" I expect she wasn’t very glad to see me 
when I came here this summer, and I cer- 
tainly can’t blame her. Indeed, I believe I 
like her all the better for it ; but she is a 
little too independent to suit me now.” 

" She learned her lesson of independence 
in a hard school, and she won’t be likely to 
forget it very soon. It has made her too 
unyielding to be always agreeable ; but she 
has changed very much in that respect with- 
in the last six months. The children have 
felt the change. There she comes now,” he 
added, pointing to Rlioda, who was coming 
from the field with Amos and Elsie. 

Mr. Dalton rose and went to the window 
to get a better view of her. " She has a 
graceful figure, well-poised head, small feet, 
and magnificent hair,” he said, enumerating 
her ” fine points.” " A woman thus dowered 


182 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


ought to make herself handsome, even with a 
plainer face than Rhoda’s. She must wear i 
rich, warm colors. It isn’t too late to make 
a lady of her yet.*’ 

From these remarks, my readers may be 
able to judge something of the character of 
this man. He had a great regard for appear- 
ances, and understood what was necessary to 
produce the best effect in dress and manners. 
He wished to take Rhoda to his home, but he 
also wished that she should do credit to her 
surroundings. It remained to be seen how 

O 

, * 

much of his anticipations would prove true. 

When his health was somewhat established, d 
he spent considerable time in riding, looking t\ 
after old places, and seeking new r objects of 
interest. In these rides Rhoda often accom- 
panied him ; but she much preferred being 
left behind, when she could go into the kitch- 
en or milk-room, and bring them back to j 
their old order. 

One of these opportunities having occurred, 
she was busily at work when Mrs. Gray came 
in, looking with satisfaction upon the im- ; j 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


183 


provement she had made. "Your uncle 
would hardly fancy your scrubbing at this 
rate,” she said. "He calculates you’ll live 
without work the rest of your life.” 

"Our calculations don’t agree there,” re- 
plied Rhoda. " I’ve worked too long to give 
it up now. He’ll have to take somebody 
younger than I am, if he expects to make 
them over very much.” 

" You won’t work in the kitchen when you 
get to the city. That wouldn’t do at all.” 
"I’ve never said I’d go to the city yet. 
It’s no place for me. I’d a great deal rather 
stay where I am. He wants me to wear the 
clothes he brought up ; but I can’t do it. 
Just think how I should look with them on ! ” 
"I think you would look very well,” re- 
plied Mrs. Gray. " You would soon get used 
to wearing them. You’ve had enough of 
hard work, and I, for one, should be very 
glad to see you better off.” 

"I am well enough off here,” said Rhoda, 
giving the last touches to the shelf she was 
scouring. "Uncle William has no claims 


184 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 




upon me. I don’t know as I’m indebted to 
him for anything only those clothes, and I’m 
ready to give them back any time. I believe 
I shall tell him that I can’t go with him.” 
Mrs. Gray had no wish to reply to this. 
She knew Rhoda, perhaps, better than any 
one else, and fully agreed with her in many 
ot her conclusions. Yet she would not in- 
terfere. 

f ' When are we going to Cross Mountain ? ” 
asked Mr. Dalton of his niece, the following 
morning. I must go there before I return 
home,, and September is not far away. Sup- 
pose we go this afternoon.” 

It was many years since Rhoda had been 
there, and she did not care to go again. 
There were too many sad memories cluster- 
ing around the spot. To drink from the old 
well would be no pleasure to her; but, to 
please her uncle, she consented to go with 
him. 

Mr. Dalton believed that the old home- 
stead rightfully belonged to his niece ; but he 
could not prove this, even had it been worth 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


185 


the trouble. " She will have enough without 
it,” he said to Mr. Gray, when talking of the 
matter. 

It was a delightful afternoon when the two 
started for Cross Mountain. Wherever thev 

xJ 

passed, people looked after them, hastening 
to doors and windows to get a good view. 
This amused Mr. Dalton, but annoyed Rhoda, 
and she was glad when they left the main 
road . 

"This seems quite a climb to me now,” 
said her uncle; "but when I was a boy, we 
didn’t call it much of a hill. Father always 
kept a good road, and there were plenty of 
horses in the stable. I spent a good many 
happy days here.” 

Rhoda was silent, but her companion was 
too much engrossed to observe it. He left 
the carriage, and walked to the old well, 
and leaned against the ash-tree which still 
overshadowed it. " I’ve heard my mother say 
she planted this with her own hands,” he 
said. "How long it is since then ! ” 

The stones of the cellar and the charred 


186 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


timbers around it were overgrown with tall 
grass. Everything here had changed since 
he went out from the shadow of the old roof- 
tree. 

Yet the clouds seemed resting upon the 
far-off mountains just as they did when he 
first looked upon them, and, through an open- 
ing between two hills, he caught the glimpse 
of the same tiny" lake that had nestled there 
threescore years before. 

lie was living in the past. Father, mother, 
brothers, and sisters were again around him. 
Again he heard their shouts of merry laughter, 
and echoed back their gladness. 

All had been dear to him ; but Mira, the 
youngest of the flock, was his especial pet ; 
yet he left her to die among strangers. He 
had intended to provide for her comfort ; but 
he delayed until it was too late. 

He forgot his niece, while she wandered 
away by herself, trying to force back the tears 
that trembled in her eyes. The effort was 
vain. The floods of emotion were too strong 
to be resisted. 


OUT OF THE FIFE. 


187 


When her uncle found her she was weep- 
ing as unrestrainedly as a child, with her face 
buried in her hands. Her grief seemed too 
sacred for intrusion, yet he could not leave her. 
He laid his hand upon her head, and uttered 
her name in a voice of tenderness to which 
she was all unused. 

Had he only called her thus when she was 
a homeless child, how gladly she would have 
responded ! Now, she tried to speak, but 
the great sobs choked her voice. 

A bird cleft the air with noiseless wing, 
and rested on the tree in whose shade she 
was sitting. A wild gush of song gave notice 
of its presence, and the weeper raised her 
head to listen. 

" I am sorry I asked you to come here,” 
said Mr. Dalton. " Let me drink from the 
old well, and we will return. I did not 
intend to purchase pleasure at your ex- 
pense.” 

There was a rude contrivance for drawing 
water, and Rhoda had provided pail and dip- 
per. They lingered a little by the well, drank 


188 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


of its sparkling contents, then turned their 
faces homeward. 

Mr. Dalton was troubled by the barrier 
that existed between his niece and himself. 
He had not been conscious of it in his sick- 
ness, had not been troubled by it during his 
convalescence ; but, as the days went by, it 
seemed to grow higher and broader. She 
was by his side that afternoon, yet far re- 
moved from him in sympathy and confidence. 

In his present state this was intolerable, 
but he knew not how to surmount the unseen 
obstacle. He had told her that she was to be 
heir of his wealth ; but she received the in- 
telligence unmoved. Her regard could not 
be bought with money. 

The first part of the drive was tedious to 
both, Ehoda being quite as unhappy as her 
uncle. ' 1 on haven’t enjoyed this afternoon,” 
he said, at length. " I ought to have known 
that the old place could not be to you what 
it is to me. Tou were too young when you 
left there to have many recollections of it.” 

" Uncle TV illiam, why didn’t you help my 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


189 


mother?” she asked, abruptly. "She said 
you would come and take us away from here ; 
but you didn’t do it. After mother died, I 
hadn’t anybody to take care of me. Why 
didn’t you come ? ” 

These were questions that had suggested 
themselves to William Dalton many times 
during the past few weeks, but he had been 
able to give no satisfactory replies. IIow 
could he now answer her who demanded a 
reason for his unnatural conduct. 

"I cannot tell,” he said, at length. "I 
was too much engaged in making money ; 
but I intended to come. I know that is no 
excuse for neglect of duty,” he said, after a 
moment’s pause. "I am deeply guilty, and 
I ask your forgiveness. I would ask your 
mother’s too, if I could see her. I am an 
old man now, and you are all that is left to 
me. You cannot refuse to forgive me.” 

There was a moment’s struggle, but the 
good in Rhoda Smith’s nature triumphed, 
and she extended her hand in token of pardon. 

"Now we will be friends,” said the old 


190 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


man, his face lighting up with pleasure. "I 
am glad you asked me that question. We 
shall understand each other better now. 
No words of yours could reproach me more 
bitterly than I have reproached myself. To 
speak of it has taken a great burden from my 
heart. You will not hate me now.” 

"I never hated you,” Rhoda found voice to 
say ; " but it seemed strange to me that none 
of mother’s family ever came to see me.” 

" It is strange,” was the reply ; " and I have 
not yet seen her grave. We have time enough 
to drive there. Shall we go?” he asked. 

"I should be very glad to go,” said Rhoda. 
"It is a long time since I have been there.” 
The old burial-ground was a neglected- 
looking spot, but it commanded one of the 
finest views in town. The traveller would often 
pause by its gate to look upon the surround- 
ing scenery, and perhaps read a lesson of 
mortality from the white stones that gleamed 
through the trees. Conspicuous among these 
were the two which marked the resting-places 
of Herbert Smith, and his wife Mira. These 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


191 


had been placed there by her daughter ; she 
having made it one of her first duties to pay 
this tribute of respect to her parents. 

" Aged thirty-five years,” read Mr. Dalton, 
from the head-stone. " She was no older 
than you when she died,” he said to his niece. 
" I can see her now, as she looked when she 
bade me good-by. Little did I think it was 
for the last time.” 

The large tears rolled down his cheeks as 
he recalled this parting, and the sad events 
which fcfUowed. 

Rhoda’s heart was touched by this demon- 
stration of grief, and involuntarily she moved 
nearer to her uncle. "I’ve always come here 
alone before,” she murmured. 

AYe will come together now,” was the 
broken reply. Then both were silent until 
the gentleman, with an effort, roused himself. 

” Ehoda, you have never yet told me that 
you would make your home with me. Of 
course I expect it, but I should be glad to 
have your promise. I will do all I can to 
make you happy.” 


192 


OUT OF TIIE FIKE. 




"I’in afraid I should disappoint you if I 
went, Uncle Wijliam. I’ve been brought up 
differently from my cousins. I’m odd and old- 
fashioned ; but I get along in my place here.” 
' And you will get along there,” replied her 
uncle. Only promise to go, and if you wish 


to come back I -will try to be satisfied.” 


With much hesitation she gave the re- 
quired promise. Her uncle stooped down to 
kiss her in a fatherly way. " That seals the 
compact,” he exclaimed ; "and now it is time* 
for us to go home.” 

Unused to caresses, Rlioda blushed like a 
girl at the first kiss of her lover ; but her 
uncle did not notice it. 

" To-morrow we will go anywhere you wish 
to,” he said, as they drove along. " Haven’t 
you some friends you wish to visit? ” 

Rlioda had been wishing, all the summer, 
to visit Amy Hill ; but she had no intention 
of going there with her uncle. Aunt Lizzie - 


Balcli was another she must see.- 

" 1 ou needn’t feel obliged to have my com- 
pany,” he said, at length. 





OUT OF THE FIRE. 


193 


"I suppose I ought to go to Cousin Reu- 
ben’s,” she replied, evasively. ' f You wouldn’t 
want to see him or his wife. I guess I must 
take a week to visit in that neighborhood.” 
When they reached home Mrs. Gray was 
soon made acquainted with the fact that her 
friend had positively engaged to leave her. 

" I trust 3 t ou will be very happy,” she re- 
plied to this communication. 

" I don’t expect to be happy,” answered 
Rhoda. ”1 don’t want to go ; but I couldn’t 
help making the promise, and now it’s made 
it’s got to be fulfilled.” 

With this conclusion, she was glad to set 
aside the subject, trusting to the future to 
present it in a more attractive light. 

Two or three days after this, Judson Gray 
was waiting to drive with Aunt Rhoda to 
Reuben Smith’s. How differently she looked 
from her who watched for the sound of the 
old bells six months before, and how differ- 
ently she was regarded ! To be sure she car- 
ried the same work-bag, knitting and sheath, 

| hut there w r as no great display of I hem. 


194 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


Just before starting, her uncle gave her a 
handsome purse, which she was about to de- 
posit with her other treasures, when he pre- 
vented her. 

" You will find that purse well filled, 5 ’ he 
said. " I wish you to take it with you ; you 
may need some money while you are gone.” 

" I have plenty with me besides that,” she 
replied, but to save discussion she took the 
purse with its contents. 

Mrs. Smith was standing at the door of her 
poor home, shading her eyes with her hand, 
when Judson Gray drove up. " It can’t be,” 
she said to herself; and the next moment she 
said aloud, ” I declare, Reuben, there’s Cousin 
Rhody. She’s coming here, too, and there’s 
nothing in the house fit to give her for din- 
ner.” 

By this time Judson had driven to the 
door, and Samantha forgot her poverty in 
the real pleasure she felt at seeing this friend. 

" You’ve come to stop some, I hope,” she 
said, cordially. 

"I shall stop if you’ll keep me,” answered 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


195 


Rhoda ; and here Reuben came forward, la- 
zily. 

" You’ve come to a poor place,” he said. 
"We aint much used to rich folks. Guess 
you’ve got some up to your house,” he added 
to Judson Gray. 

"I suppose we have one,” was the laugh- 
ing reply; "but we don’t mind much about 
that.” 

"Seems to me you’ve grown pale this sum- 
mer,” said Mrs. Smith to her guest. " You’ve 
lost some of your flesh too.” 

"Perhaps so ; I’ve been shut up in the house 
most of the time, and that don’t agree with 
me. Then, I’ve had a good deal to think of.” 
"Yes,” interrupted Samantha, "I should 
think you had. I’ve been wanting to see you 
and ask you all about it.” 

"There isn’t much to tell. I suppose Uncle 
William has made some provision for me, and 
that’s all I know about it.” 

This by no means satisfied the curious 
woman, and she was about to ask some fur- 
ther questions when her husband came in, 




196 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


and Rhoda commenced talking with him. 
Soon after, she went out of the room to 
make some preparation for dinner, but came 
back directly, to say that the cows were in 
the corn. 

" Guess that fence’s down again,” said Reu- 
ben. ' I meant to look after it yesterday, 
but didn’t get time. Guess I’ll mend it now.” 

f ' That’s just the way everything goes,” 
said the discouraged wife. w I’ve told him 
about that fence a good many times ; but it’s 
no use.” 

Once Rhoda would have scolded soundly 
about the shiftlessness of her cousin, and 
thus increased the unhappiness of his wife. 
Xow she made some cheerful remark calcu- 
lated to divert her attention. Then her 
thoughts reverted to the dinner. " I’m Had 
to see you,” she said to her visitor; "but the 
tact is, I've nothing lit to give you for dinner. 
I’m poorly off.” 

" 1 on needn’t think anything about that,” 
answered Rhoda ; " I can eat what you can. 
Of course you’ve got pork and potatoes, and 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


197 


butter and milk. We can make a dinner 
without any trouble. Just bring along, what 
you’ve got. We might have some eggs with 
the pork.” 

" There aint an egg in the house,” replied 
Samantha. "Reuben says the hens don’t 
lay, and I haint been to the barn to see.” 

" It stands to reason that hens lay this time 
of year. I’ll go to the barn myself and see 
what I can find.” 

Rhoda was disgusted with the first appear- 
ance of the barn, but she would not turn 
back. If Misti *ess Biddy had a nest there 
she was the very one to find it, as was proved 
by the generous supply of eggs she carried 
to the house. 

" See here !” she exclaimed to Mrs. Smith, 
displaying her treasures. " You'd better look 
after the hens yourself. It don’t do to trust 
men-folks for that. These will make quite 
an addition to our dinner. Now you set the 
table, and I’ll see to the frying.” 

Rhoda’s good nature put everything in 
the best possible light, and the dinner was 


198 


OUT OF THE FIEE. 


not so bad, after all. To be sure, there was 

no bread but that made of corn-meal, and 

there was no sugar for the tea; but what 

u as lacking in variety was made up in quan- 
tity. 

" Everybody else grows better off while we 
grow poorer," said Mrs. Smith to her vis- 
itor, when they sat down that afternoon for a 
confidential talk. "There’s Dec Rollins, 
m 01 king every day as steady as any man in 
town, and they have everything they need in 
the house. I went up there yesterday, and 
Miss Rollins made me stay to supper. It 

Mas a good supper too, worth eating for 
anybody.” 

I heard things were different there. I 
wonder how it came about.” 

I guess Amy Hill had something to do 
about it. Any way, folks think so. I wish 
something could be done to change Reuben. 
T\ r e haint got but little left, and that ’s <roiii<r 

O © 

as us it cun. Lang wus here, looking 
lounJ, the other day, and soon afterwards 
Reuben said lie shouldn’t keep so many cows 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


199 


much longer ; so I suppose there’s a rum bill 
to be paid.” 

Just then, Reuben Smith came in from 
mending the fence, and said he was going to 
the village to get " some necessaries.” 

" Don* t go on my account,” responded 
Rhoda. " You can't afford to leave your work 
such a pleasant day as this. Samanthy and 
I’ll go over to-morrow and get what’s needed . 
That will give us a ride, and save your time 
too.” 

This was not at all to his taste, but, having 
no reasonable objection to offer, he felt 
obliged to yield the point. He did this, 
however, rather ungraciously, and managed 
to accomplish very little during the after- 
noon. From his restlessness, Rhoda judged 
that a visit to Lang’s was included in his 
village business, although he said repeatedly 
that he was intending to get only tea, sugar, 
and flour, and they could hardly have supper 
and breakfast without. 

The next morning, as early as might be, 
the two were ready for their ride. " You 


200 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 

can get the things charged,” Reuben said to 
them. "I’ve got an account with Starkey.” 
This account was principally upon one side, 
but it was no larger for anything bought 
that morning. Rhoda ordered the groceries, 
and paid the bill, and then felt that she 
should be under no obligation to her cousin 
if she chose to remain there for a week. 

Reuben Smith uttered his astonishment in 
a long, low whistle, when his wife told him 
of this, and showed him her stores. "It’s a 
gieat help,’ she said; "but I’m ashamed to 

have her give them to us. I’m sorry we need 

it.” 

So am I, ’ was the quick reply. "I de- 
clare, things look pretty dark ahead.” 

'' hy don't you carry a lantern, then?” 
asked a familiar voice. 

" Twould take something more than a lan- 
tern to light this track,” he replied, with a 
forced laugh. 

I eihaps so. I don t know what track it 
is. I only heard you say something about its 
being dark ahead.” 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 201 

Mrs. Smith had feared that Rhoda would 
he so much elated at her good fortune that 
she would be quite above her humble cares 
and plans ; but she found herself entirely mis- 
taken. Her visitor never gave her so much 
real sympathy and practical advice as in these 
few days. She helped her to repair old 
furniture and old garments, and in many 
ways contributed to her comfort. They 
visited together at Mr. Batch’s, Rhoda going 
early in the morning, and Samantha follow- 
ing in the afternoon. Aunt Lizzie saw, 
with pleasure, the great change that had 
taken place in the dress and appearance of 
one in whom she was so much interested. 
"You have improved since I saw you,” she 
said, when they were left alone. 

"There was need of it,” replied Rhoda, 
l softly. " I was all wrong then, and thought 
I had the hardest time of anybody. I went 
; to see Amy Hill after that.” 

" I heard about it,” responded the old lady, 

! with a happy smile. " She told me you’d 
been there, and left her some money. She 


202 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


was very thankful for it too ; but I knew 
she’d do you more good than you could her. 
Her prayers are worth more than money.” 

"I know they are; but I don’t see how 
she can be so good when she suffers so much. 
I know I couldn’t.” 

" You could if you placed your whole de- 
pendence on God ; and we always need his 
help. Prosperity sometimes tries us more 
than adversity. You may find that out by 
experience. They say you are going to live 
with your rich uncle.” 

" Pm going home with him, and if I’m con- 
tented, I shall stay.” 

" You’ll find everything very different from 
what you’ve been used to.” 

fr I know it, and it’s no place for me. I told 
Uncle William so ; but he says he needs me, 
and I’m going to do the best I can.” 

I’m glad to hear you say that, but you 
won’t expect everything to go smooth.” 

Aunt Lizzie Balch had seen little of what 
is called society, but she had a large share 
of common sense, and a keen appreciation of 


OUT OF THE FIKE. 


203 


the proprieties of life under different circum- 
stances. For this reason she was able to 
give Rhoda some much-needed advice, which 
perhaps no other would have presumed to 
offer. " If you were only a Christian, I 
should have no fears for you,” said the old 
lady, at last. 

"I wish I was one,” replied Rhoda. "I’ve 
thought a good deal about it, since I was here 
last winter, and I’ve learned that God knows 
best.” 

"Then you’ve started in the right way. 
How is it about your uncle? Is he a 
Christian ? ” 

Rhoda shook her head. " I don’t think he 

$ 

is,” she said, after a short silence. " He 
never says anything about it.” 

"Laying up treasures for this world and 
forgetting the world to come. That’s what a 
great many are doing,” said Aunt Lizzie. " I 
should like to see your Uncle William. I 
used to be some acquainted with him before 

K 

he went away from here. I thought perhaps 
he’d come down here before now.” 


204 


OUT OF THE FIFE. 


'’He has talked about it, and I expect he 
has been waiting for me to come with him ; 
but I wanted to see you alone first. I’ll 
come with him before we go away.” 

The children claimed a share of this visit; 
the younger Mrs. Batch was at leisure after 
dinner, and when Mrs. Smith came the con- 
versation became general. 

O 

" There’s one more visit to make, and then 
I must begin to think of going back to Mrs. 
Gray’s/ said Rlioda, as she entered her 
cousin’s house that evening. " I must see 

Amv Hill.” 

«/ 

"lou can have the horse any day,” said 
Reuben, who was smoking his pipe in the 
chimney-corner. " Samanthy’ll be glad to go 
with you ; you 11 find them pretty well off 
over there,” he added, after a few more 
whiffs. " They’ll have some grand crops 
this fall, and their apple-trees are so loaded 
they’ve had to prop up the limbs.” 

"Have you been down there?” asked 
Rhoda. 

Xot lately. Dec Rollins told me about 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


205 


it. He’s worked down there some, and he’s 
taken a mighty notion to Amy. He calls her 
an angel, and says she’s saved him.” 

Thus working for the Master, in her own 
quiet way, this loving Christian gave far 
more of good than she received, and reaped a 
rich reward, even in her suffering. 


Y. 


Out of shadow, into sunlight, 
Out of darkness, into day, 
So, oft, we tread, unheeding, 
Our well-appointed way; 
Nor dream that after sorrow 
May dawn a glad to-morrow. 


September had come. Rhoda Smith had 
made all her visits, and, strange as it may 
seem, those in which her uncle joined her 
were the most pleasant. 

He w r as as much interested in Amy Hill as 
she could desire, and left a substantial token 
of his interest. Aunt Lizzie he found to be 
a charming old lady, with whom he spent a 
pleasant hour in recalling events which had 
transpired more than half a century before. 

The anticipated journey seemed formidable 
to one who, since she w T as a child, had hardly 

been beyond the limits of her own town ; but 

206 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


207 


Mr. Dalton was in the best of spirits, and ex- 
erted himself for the entertainment of his 
niece, while her own independence and self- 
reliance helped her in supporting her new 
position. 

Her outfit for the journey had been well 
selected. The favorite work-bag had yielded 
its place to a modern travelling-basket; and 
the old calash, which had so long served her 
for short excursions, was laid aside for a neat 
straw bonnet. The material and fitting of 
her dress were every way faultless, so that her 
companion had no reason to blush for her ap- 
pearance. 

The consciousness of being well dressed 
added to her self-respect, and made her feel 
somewhat at ease ; but, as they drew towards 
the close of their journey, her anxiety re- 
turned. Many of her mother’s relatives were 
living in the same city to which she was go- 
ing, and the idea of meeting them was almost 
intolerable. She had endeared herself to her 
Uncle William during his sickness, until he 
looked upon her shortcomings with charity ; 


208 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


but those who had no regard for her would be 
quick to note defects. 

"I don’t know as I have told you that my 
house-keeper is an English woman, who lived 
with your mother when she was first married.” 
Rlioda roused herself from an unpleasant 
reverie as her uncle said this. 

1 our grandmother took her when she was 
quite young and trained her to work,” he 
continued. " She has been married several 
years, and her husband is my gardener.” 

"How long have they lived with you?” 
asked the listener. 

" About ten years,” was the reply. "You 
will find Mrs. Hawthorne a notable house- 
keepei. She takes the whole care of the 
house, and manages the servants; so you will ' 
not have any trouble with them.” 

Rhoda drew a long breath as she heard 
this, wondering how she could ever accommo- 
date heiself to house-keeper and servants. 

Arrived in the city, it seemed to her the 
contusion of Babel was being repeated ; but 
she had only to accept her uncle’s care, and 


OUT OF THE FIIIE. 


209 


trust herself to his guidance. Everything 
was so strange she hardly knew how she 
reached the house which he called home. 

Mrs. Hawthorne was introduced to her, 
and, as a mark of special respect, herself led 
the wa} r to the room which had been prepared 
for her. "If you please to have any change 
it shall be made,” said the house-keeper, as 
she opened the door. ” I ordered a fire on 
account of the chilliness. Will I send an} r - 
one to help you dress? The bell will ring 
for tea in half an hour.” 

”1 shall need no help,” answered Rhoda, 
with a weary sigh that went to the heart of 
the good, motherly woman who attended her. 

” Can / do anything for you?” she asked. 
" You must be tired with your journey.” 

”X am very tired,” was the reply, ” and my 
head has ached all day. If uncle would ex- 
cuse me, I’d rather not go down again this 
evening.” 

" I’ll make that right with him, though 
he’s mostly particular about his meals, and 
likes to ’have some one at the table with him. 


210 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


I’ll send you up a cup of tea and some toast, 
.on], ii I might lie so bold, I'll come again 
myself, to see after you. 

This offer being accepted, Rhoda was left 
alone to nurse her headache and homesick- 
ness as best she might. She glanced around 
the room, spacious, well-lighted, and richly 
furnished ; yet she would gladly have ex- 
changed it tor her small bedroom at Mr. 
Gray s, with its uncarpeted floor, and low, 
vine -d r; ip e d w i ud o ws . 

A large easy-chair stood where it could 
catch the cheerful glow from the fire in the 
grate. In this she seated herself and tried 
to i Cbt ; but her head throbbed too-painfully. 

xc lap on the door announced the arrival 
of tea and toast, and, at a word, the servant 
eiitriea and placed the waiter upon a small 
tai>le. Will I put it by your chair?” she 
closed, quite as anxious to see the new-comer 
as to do her duty. 

Rhoda, glad to be spared the trouble of 
lising, nodded an assent, and then dismissed 
the gill. I he refreshment was too invitin 0. 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


211 


to be wholly neglected, but her appetite was 
quickly satisfied and the table pushed aside. 

In the mean time Mrs. Hawthorne had ex- 
cused the non-appearance of his niece to Mr. 
Dalton, who desired her to see that every- 
thing was provided for her comfort. 

"She is poor Mira’s child, you know,” he 
said, in conclusion, sure that this considera- 
tion would have great weight with his house- 

O O 

keeper. 

"Trust me for looking to her,” said the 
woman to her husband a few minutes after. 
"If she’s only half the lady her mother was, 
it will be a pleasure to do for her.” 

She found Rhoda still suffering when she 
went to her room. "Let me take down your 
hair and bathe your head,” she said, as, suit- 
ing the action to the word, she unbound the 
heavy tresses. "No wonder your head aches,” 
she added involuntarily, as she allowed them 
to drop from her hands. 

Bathing relieved the pain, and the presence 
of one who knew something of her mother, 
may have done quite as much towards recon- 


212 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


ciling Rhoda to her new situation. Mrs. 
Hawthorne did not leave her until assured 
that she felt much better, and was quite able 
to do for herself all that was necessary. 

Still it was late when she slept, and, even 
then, she hardly seemed to rest. In the 
morning she was glad to find that it was rain- 
ing heavily, the clouds being more in unison 
with her feelings than the sunshine would 
have been. 

She had never risen before without having 
some object in prospect, something to be ac- 
complished during the day ; but here she was 
expected to amuse herself without being em- 
ployed. Even her sewing had all been done 
by a woman, hired for that purpose, before 
she left Mr. Gray’s. 

Fortunately, one was visiting in the town, 
who knew something of city fashions, and 
she had superintended the getting up of a 
wardrobe which Mr. Dalton pronounced pass- 
able. Nothing could have been more vexa- 
tious to one of Rhoda’s habits than this 
remodelling of dress and manners, and it re- 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


213 


quired the utmost stretch of Mrs. Gray’s in- 
fluence to prevent an open rebellion. She 
clung to the old dresses while she remained 
at the old home ; but not one had she been 
allowed to bring with her. Mr. Dalton had 

•O 

proposed that she make a donation of the 
entire lot to Mrs. Lunt and Amy Hill. 

"It’s likely I’ll want them myself yet,” 
she said to Mattie and Elsie, who promised 
to take good care of whatever she left. 

All this passed in review before her the 
first morning she found herself an inmate of 
her uncle’s home. 

A handsome morning dress w r as thrown 
over a chair. She doubted if she could wear 
it with comfort, but there was no alternative. 
Her uncle had pronounced it more becoming 
than any dress she had ever worn, and the 
mirror confirmed Isis words. The rich, warm 
color suited well her dark, pale face. For a 
moment she forgot the years that lay between 
her girlish dreams of beauty and the present. 
She forgot the cold, taunting words, the coarse, 
scant clothing, and the hard, menial labor. 


214 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


There were light and love around her. 
She had a luxurious home, where every want 
was anticipated. This, at least, was no illu- 
sion ; but it had come too late. The smile 
faded from her lips, and the old, bitter feel- 
ing came back to her heart. 

It was well that she was interrupted in 
these musings. She had been unmindful of 
the lapse of time until the breakfast-bell 
sounded. With one last look in the mirror, 
for which look she chided herself the next 
moment, she went out into the hall and de- 
scended the stairs. 

A servant waited to show her to the break- 
fast-room where she found her uncle, who 
rose to meet her, and conducted her to 
the head of the table. The greeting, a little 
stately, as was his wont, was yet sufficiently 
affectionate to reassure his niece, who was 
able to perform her duties quite to his accept- 
ance. 

He inquired with solicitude in regard to 
her health, expressing the hope that she had 
entirely recovered from the fatigue of her 


OUT OF THE FIFE. 


215 


journey. Contrary to his usual custom, he 
allowed the morning paper to remain un- 
opened. When breakfast was over, for 
which Bhocla certainly had little appetite, 
he told her she must now consider herself at 
home. 

"You will find books in the library, where 
you will be always welcome ; and if you wish 
for anything that is not in the house, I trust 
you will not hesitate to tel! me." 

Books ! She could remember the time 
when she had thought the possession of books 
would make her perfectly happy. 

Her cousins had been fine musicians, and 


there was every provision for the grat ification 
of a musical taste. They had been taught all 
elegant accomplishments, and everywhere 
were traces of their skill. 

Her uncle invited her to the library. 


"This is where I spend most of my time 
when at home," he said. "You see it has 
been fitted up for the comfort of an old man,” 
he added, pointing to a luxurious lounge 
which occupied a recess in the room. "The 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


216 

parlors have been used but little since I was 
left alone. I told Mrs. Hawthorne to open 
them to-day. You will receive calls from 
our relatives, and they must be in readiness.” 
"I hope I shall not see them until I am a 
little used to my new position,” said Rhoda. 

"And would you rather not see your aunts 
and cousins for a few clays?” asked her 
uncle. 

"Very much rather,” was the reply. 

"It shall be as you please. I thought you 
might be lonely with no company but mine.” 
Later in the morning Mr. Dalton went to 
his place of business, and Klioda tried to 
occupy herself in reading. Her mind soon 
wandered : she irrew restless, and, closing the 
book, she set herself to explore the house. 
Entering one of the parlors, she found Mrs. 
Hawthorne engaged in superintending the 
arrangement of the room. 

"Well soon have it in order,” she said, 
after a respectful greeting. "If you’ve a 
mind to look about the house, I’ll be glad to 
show you,” she added, as, with a parting in- 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


217 


junction to the servant, she closed the door 
behind them. 

Mrs. Hawthorne enjoyed this exhibition, 
which reflected so much credit upon her 
house-keeping, while Rhoda was quick to see 
and appreciate the excellence in this depart- 
ment. The last room entered seemed to 
Rhoda the most pleasant of all. It was in a 
wing of the main building, overlooking the 
garden, where choice fruit was ripening in 
the warmth of a September sun. An Eng- 
lish ivy was trained across the windows and 
luxuriated in a sunny corner, where its ten- 
drils twined around a light framework of 
canes. 

"This is my room,” said Mrs. Hawthorne, 
"and the ivy is a great pet of my husband’s. 
It’s a bit of the old country just here with us, 
and makes it seem like home. Will you 
please to sit down here?” she asked, after 
enlarging upon the beauty of this trailing 
plant, which to every English heart is 
eloquent of home and fatherland. 

Rhoda accepted the proffered seat, a low 


218 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


locking-chair by the side of a table, on which 
were a work-basket and Bible. "I would 
like to stop if I shall not be in your way,” 
she said. 

" Never in my way,” was the reply, "m 
always be glad to see you here.” 

Then the two chatted pleasantly until Mrs. 
Hawthorne was obliged to look after some 
household work, and Rhoda went to her 
chamber. 

She knew she would be expected to dress 
for the late dinner with her uncle. " I’ll 
never get used to it,” she said to herself. 

Nothing to do but dress and undress. I 
wonder if that is spending life profitably ? ” 
Notwithstanding this, she was gratified 
with her reflection in the mirror, and smiled 
back to the well-dressed woman. 

As my readers will have observed, Rhoda 
Smith had improved much in her use of 
language since we first made her acquaint- 
ance. Mr. Gray had said that she was a 
good scholar when in school ; but her advan- 
tages had been limited, while hard work had 


» 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


219 


exhausted both her time and strength. After 
she left school she seldom opened a book, 
and, surrounded as she was by uneducated 
people, she acquired their rude, ungrammat- 
ical modes of expression. 

But this never troubled her; indeed, she 
was hardly conscious of it until her first visit 
to Amy Hill, when every word from this 
gentle teacher seemed like music to her 
quickened sensibilities. 

In trying to analyze this influence, she in- 
stinctively recognized the contrast between 
the different construction of sentences and 
use of words. Her thoughts once directed to 
the subject, she observed the conversation of 
individuals with a view to her own improve- 
ment, determined to be more careful of her 
words in future. 

The teacher of the school in Mr. Gray’s 
district that winter was one who laid great 
stress upon the proper use of language, 
and the children were constantly repeating at 
home the- lessons they learned in school. 
Their grammars, too, were studied in the 


220 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


evening, an clothe rules applied in such a man- 
ner as to be easily understood. 

”1 should like to study grammar with 
you,” said Rhoda, when they w r ere all gath- 
ered around the table. 

" I might as well join the class too,” said 
Mr. Gray. ” There wasn’t much attention 
paid to grammar when I was a boy.” 

The children were delighted at the pros- 
pect of having two grown-up scholars, and 
grammar lessons became quite an institution 
in the family. In connection with these, the 
dictionary was thoroughly studied, and woe 
be to the one who was caught tripping in 
pronunciation. 

This, besides bringing Rhoda into sympa- 
thy with the children, was of great advantage 
to her personal appearance. She no longer 
used old-fashioned modes of expression, or, 
if she inadvertently let them slip, she was 
sure to be reminded of her fault. This she 
ahvavs received with Rood nature, and often 
with some amusing remark, whicK* repaid the 
children for " watching’ Aunt Rhoda.” When 

O 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


221 


her uncle came she made a . still greater 
effort to "talk by rule,” and had the satis- 
faction of feeling that she was not likelv 

O 1/ 

to shock his good taste by her unskilled 
speech. 

Among those things which she had her- 
self provided for her journey were a gram- 
mar and dictionary, packed in the very 
bottom of her trunk, to be brought out when- 
ever occasion might require. She would 
need them both whenever she should write 
the letter that was to be read in Mr. Gray’s 
family, 

Elsie, who had a great curiosity in regard 
to the world outside her own observation, 
was anxious that this letter should contain a 
description of all the places and all the people 
she should see during lier journey. "And 
be sure to tell us all about Uncle William’s 
house,” she added, in a whisper. "I wish I 
could see all the nice things there.” 

Pens, ink, and paper, with two books for 
consultation, lay before her, and she com- 
menced the letter. The first few lines were 


222 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


written, each stroke made with the greatest 
care, yet, by no means satisfying the writer, 
and she laid it aside, convinced that there 
were some things to be learned besides gram- 
mar and the dictionary. 

Dinner with her uncle was more pleasant 
than she had anticipated, and the ceremony 
less irksome. He was happy in having her 
with him, and quite satisfied with her appear- 
ance. His business had been well managed 
during his absence, and, although he still 
mourned the loss of wife and children, his 
home seemed more cheerful than for many 
months. 

He had thought often of his niece during 
the day, wondering how she had employed 
her time, and anxious that she should find 
everything pleasant. "I have seen some of 
our relatives, and they will call upon you in 
a few days,” he said, when the servant had 
left the room, and he w T as sipping his wine. 
" I told them you w T ere not quite well at 
present. Was that true?” he asked, smil- 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


223 


"It was true yesterday,” she replied. "I 
am better to-day,. — so well that I have com- 
menced a letter to Mrs. Gray, which is to 
contain my entire experience since I left her 
house.” 

" Writing so soon ! ” exclaimed Mr. Dalton. 

O 

"You will hardly do us justice now. Wait 
until you are better acquainted.” 

"I will try to do you justice,” answered 
Rhoda. "It will take several days to write 
my letter, so I shall have ample time to be- 
come acquainted. You know writing is not 
one of my accomplishments.” 

"I know very little about that ; but I can 
testify to some of your accomplishments, 
such as nursing and cooking, and there are 
times when these are worth more than all 
others. If I should have another illness like 
that of last summer, I should certainly think 
so.” 

Rhoda acknowledged this delicate compli- 
ment, which was really her due, and which, 
as was intended, gave her more self-confi- 
dence. She had once been of service to her 


224 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


uncle, and the time might come when he 

would need her again. 

When the hour came for retiring that 
nio'ht, she congratulated herself that one day 
was well over, while the next seemed less 
formidable. She was refreshed by a night 
of quiet sleep. The morning was one of sun- 
shine ; but clouds soon obscured the light, and 
to Rhoda the change seemed an emblem of 
her life. She had forgotten the preceding 
morning, when rain and darkness had given 

o 1 

place to a brilliant noon. 

She devoted considerable of the day to 
reading ; studied a little, and took a more 
leisurely survey of the part of the house she 
was expected to occupy. Her uncle, whose 
improved health prompted to unusual ac- 
tivity, was away until the dinner hour. 

" You will find something in the library, 
which I bought for you/ he then said. 

" What is it?” asked Rhoda, impulsively. 

"Wait and see,” was the laughing reply. 
" It is something I am sure you need, and 
which I hope you will like.” 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


225 


" There is nothing I need except work,” 
answered Rhoda. 

" Then your wants are all supplied. You 
have certainly had enough of work for one 
life.” 

"But, uncle, you can’t expect me to be 
happy with nothing to do. I brought some 
yarn with me, but I am saving that to knit 
in the loner winter evenings. It will never 
do for me to be so idle.” 

" Idleness will not injure you for a 
while, and I’ve no doubt when the winter 
evenings come you will find enough to oc- 
cupy your time.” 

In talking and thinking of this, Rhoda 
forgot the present she was to receive until she 
entered the library. There the first object 
which met her sight was an elegant writing- 
desk. 

" This is for you,” said her uncle ; " and I 
am very much mistaken if it is not just what 
you need. I ordered it to be well supplied 
with writing materials,” he added. 

Rhoda, quite dazzled by the costly gift, 


226 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


expressed her thanks in a somewhat confused 
manner. 

The next dav Mrs. Hawthorne told her 

\j 

that the room Mrs. Dalton and her daughters 
had called " the retreat ” was now in order. 
"I’ve freshened it up a bit,” she said; "and 
you’ll find it pleasant. Mistress used to sit 
there mostly when there was no company, and 
the youim ladies were a good deal with her.” 
The room was fresh and bright as could be 
desired, too richly furnished to seem quite 
homelike to Rhoda ; but she was fast becom- 
ing accustomed to rich furniture and luxuri- 

V * 

ous surroundings. 

She carried her writing-desk to this room, 

and spent considerable time in an effort to 

copy a specimen of fine penmanship, which, 

by some means, had found its way into the 

desk. Thus occupied, the hours flew swift- 

* 

ly, and that evening she gratified her uncle 
by telling him that he had supplied one of 
her greatest needs. 

The days went by, and there was a great 
curiosity among the Dalton relatives to see 






OUT OF THE FIRE. 


227 


our heroine. William, being the eldest, and 
generally considered the most wealthy, was 
treated with much deference by the family, 
and since the death of his wife and children, 
there had been a good deal of speculation in 
regard to the probable disposition of his 
property. 

No one of his relatives knew that he had 
any idea of seeking out his country niece. 
It was by little less than an accident that he 
learned of her existence. A gentleman of 
his acquaintance, in speaking of a proposed 
business tour, incidentally mentioned his 
native town as one of the places where he 
should stop. 

' P I wish you would inquire if there is a 
Ehoda Smith living there,” said Mr. Dalton, 
and this name was written in the memorandum 
of his friend. 

He asked the question when he reached the 
town, and made a note of the information he 
received ; wdiich information he transmitted to 
Mr. Dalton. Again he resolved, as he had 
often done before, to write and learn some^ 


228 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


thing more definite in regard to her ; but 
again he delayed. 

The death of his wife and children left him 
quite alone, and, his bereavement having 
quickened his sense of duty, he had sought 
his niece as I have before related. 

Mrs. Hawthorne, who had been devotedly 
attached to Mira Dalton, was very desirous 
that her daughter should acquit herself cred- 
itably in the presence of her more favored 
relatives. Having lived in the family for so 
many years, and being a close observer of 
manners, she knew what points would seem 
to them of most importance. 

When they made their first calls after 
Rhoda’s arrival, she arranged a dainty lunch 
such as her former mistress would have or- 
dered, and then assisted in the serving. 
Whatever could be done by a mere house- 
keeper was done by Mrs. Hawthorne. 

Various were the comments made upon 
this visit, and many the criticisms bestowed 
upon w Cousin Rhoda.” 

" Not so awkward as I expected,” said one. 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


229 


"She has the family look,” said another. 
"And the family pride,” added the third. 

" She is well enough,” remarked one of the 
cousins, who laid claim to superior intelli- 
gence ; " but she is not entertaining in con- 
versation.” 

As to face and figure, they were of the 
same opinion with Mr. Dalton, while they 
were unanimous in admiring her magnificent 
hair. Well and richly dressed, as she would 
be in that house, no one could call her dowdy 
or old-fashioned. 

She, too, formed her own estimate of them 
while they were so freely discussing her 
merits. 

In consideration of the deaths which had 
so recently transpired, the house was not 
opened to receive general company ; but a 
few family friends called to make the ac- 
quaintance of Mr. Dalton’s niece. 

She, having no particular fancy for sight- 
seeing, took most of her out-door exercise in 
the garden, for the first few weeks ; but, after 
that, her uncle insisted that she should ride, 


230 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


and return the calls she had received. He 
sometimes accompanied her, but more often 
she went alone, until some of her cousins 
decided it would be best to show her more 
positive attention. 

Then they were always ready to go with 
her, and often really burdened her with their 
presence. It was not possible that they 
could have many tastes in common ; but this 
intercourse was, in one way, very advan- 
tageous to Rhoda, who always used her eyes 
and ears to the best advantage. 

When the weather grew cooler, giving 
notice of winter’s approach, her uncle re- 
minded her that it would be necessary to 
make some additions to her wardrobe, and 
gave her a generous supply of money for that 
purpose. " \ on will do well to ask youi 
Aunt Laura to accompany you in your shop- 
ping excursions,” he said. "She has good 

taste in matters of dress.” 

" Aunt Laura ” was quite too showy and 
haughty a woman to be a pleasant companion 
for Rhoda; and, although her mother’s only 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


231 


sister, she seemed almost to ignore the rela- 
tionship. An opportunity, however, soon 
occurred, when it was convenient for this 
aunt, Mrs. Fulton, to make use of her broth- 
er's carriage, and Rhoda proposed that they 
do some shopping. 

Mrs. Fulton, who, next to buying elegant 
goods, enjoyed examining them, graciously 
accepted the invitation of her niece, and led 
the way to the most fashionable stores, where 
the costliest fabrics were exhibited by obse- 
quious clerks. 

Rhoda was expected to have very little 
voice in this selection ; and, in deference to 
her uncle, she allowed her companion to 
make most of the purchases. She spent, 
that morning, what would once have seemed 
to her a small fortune ; but circumstances 
demanded conformity to the wishes of 
others. 

To say that she was really happy in her 
present home would not be true. Her 
habits were too firmly established to be easily 
changed. Active life, with some future duty 


232 


OUT OF THE FTKE. 


beckoning her ever on, was necessary to her 
happiness. 

reverted to the friends 
she had left, and the long letters written and 
received served to keep each w T cll advised of 
the other. 

Mrs. Gray made a visit to Amy Hill for 
the purpose of giving Rhoda a particular ac- 
count of her condition, which was far more 
favorable than could have been expected. 
She had never been so well as during the 
autumn months, and her heart was overflow- 
ing with gratitude. The promise of an abun- 
dant harvest had been more than realized. 

"I am trying to write a letter to Rhoda 
Smith,” said Amy. "It is so long since I 
have written at all that I make poor work of 
it ; but I hope to finish it in a few days. I 
wish to tell her how well and how rich we 
are. We never expected to see such days as 
these. It is all because the Lord has cared 
for us,” she added. 

This letter was, at length, completed, and, 
in due time, reached its destination, where it 



WRITING TO EHODA. Page 282. 


# 



























OUT OF THE FIRE. 


233 


was read with great interest. No letter had 
ever given Rhoda so much pleasure as this. 
She sympathized with the writer in her feel- 
ings of thankfulness, and appreciated the 
details of the harvest. The bounteous stores 
of nature’s goods which had been lavished 
upon her friends gladdened her own heart. 

Every one rejoiced at the result of " Wid- 
ow Lunt’s farming,” and the last day’s work 
was as freely given as the first. There was 
more than could be well housed upon the 
premises, and Mr. Felton took the surplus 
at a fair price. 

Dexter Rollins, w r ho had moved from the 
house where we first saw him, was now one 
of Mrs. Lunt’s nearest neighbors, and most 

O 7 

reliable friends. He was never so busy but 
he could find time to go there, and never so 
tired but he was ready to perform any labor 
that would add to the comfort of Amy Hill 
or her aunt. 

His garden had been productive and his 
labor remunerative, so that he was able to 
make good provision for the winter. A year 


234 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


before, his presence was considered a curse 
to any neighborhood ; but he was gladly wel- 
comed to his new home. 

The " temperance spell,” of which Reuben 
Smith had spoken with a sneer, was not yet 
ended, and there had been no necessity for 
replacing the brown jug. Little Mercy no 
longer concealed herself under the bed at his 
approach, but, on the contrary, sprang to his 
arms with a cry of joy, while he pressed her 
to his heart with a feeling of gratitude that 
his hand had not doomed her to a life of suf- 
fering. 

But prosperity was not the universal rule 
in this country town. Lang still plied his 
trade of drunkard-making, and found pat- 
rons. Many a poor woman was obliged to 
submit to great privation that her husband 
might take his dram in the bar-room, and 
many a child went without needed food and 
clothing that her father might have the 
means of gratifying a hellish apoetite. 

O C/ O i- L 

There had been a temperance organization 
in the town, but it was languishing, and the 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


235 


rumseller had little positive opposition to 
encumber. There were those who passed 
him by on the other side whenever it was 
possible ; yet, so long as the receipts of his 
business were not diminished, he was satis- 
fied. 

Dexter Rollins had spent a great deal of 
time and money in his house, and, whenever 
be absented himself for a few days, or weeks, 
he was sure to come back with increased 
means and appetite. When Lang heard from 
Reuben Smith that Dec had broken his jug 
and sworn off, he felt certain that his old cus- 
tomer would soon get tired of that way of 
living. 

"He’ll get dry enough, before long,” he 
said, when speaking of him. "You may de- 
pend on that. We shan’t lose his company.” 

" Don’t be too sure,” replied a man who 
held a half-emptied glass in his hand. "1 
saw him yesterday, and had a talk with him ; 
it’s my opinion he won’t patronize this bar 
any more. He’s a fool if he does. Felton 
says he’s the best workman in town, and it’s 


236 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


a shame for him to pour his wages clown his 
throat.” 

The occupants of the bar-room looked at 
the speaker in astonishment. He had been 
one of Dexter Rollins’ boon companions, al- 
ways ready for a drunken carouse, and ignor- 
ing every claim of wife and children. 

" Seems to me that’s queer talk for you,” 
said one. You’re a pretty good match for 
Dec, yourself. If there's any fool about it, 
you haint much to brag of.” 

" Guess you’re right there,” he replied, 
setting down his glass. " As to that matter 
we’re all fools.” 

Lang, who had at first considered this tern- 
perance speech amusing, was getting some- 
what angry, as was manifest by his impatient 
drumming upon the counter. " Better drink 
your liquor,” he said at length. " You’ll feel 
better after that.” 

The man thus addressed showed no incli- 
nation to heed this advice, and the silence 
was getting oppressive, when one asked who 
had been talking to Rollins. 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


237 


" Somebody who has a perfect right to talk, ” 
replied his old companion, Enos Grimes. 
" Somebody, too, who’s good enough to have 
her words of some account.” 

" Her words,” repeated the landlord, scorn- 
fully. " So it’s a woman, is it? Women are 
• generally at the bottom of most of the mis- 
chief in this world.” 

" You think so, don’t you ? ” asked Grimes, 
fiercely. "Well, I don’t,” he added, without 
waiting for a reply. " Liquor’s at the bottom 
of a good deal of mischief, and the men drink 
most of that.” 

"Well, Grimes, let that go, now. You 
haven’t told us who talked to Dec. Perhaps 
you’d better go to her and get a sermon your- 
self.” 

"Yes, go,” said Lang, whose patience was 
now entirely exhausted. "But you might as 
well let us know who the woman is, so we 
can go to her when we get ready to come 
under petticoat government.” 

Enos Grimes looked around the room with 
the air of one who was making an estimate 


238 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


of those before him, saying, deliberately, "I 
wouldn’t speak her name here. She is too 
good to be talked of by such men as we are.” 
Then, turning to Lang, he added, f Guess I’ll 
try Dec’s plan a while. So, here goes;” 
and the glass was emptied of its contents in 
a way that injured no one but an unfortunate 
chicken, who was under the window at the 
time. 

" Miokt have given that to me if you didn’t 
want it yourself,” exclaimed an old man, who, 
a short time before, had vainly urged Lang 
to give him credit for "just one glass.” 

" I might, but I didn’t, and I’m glad of it,” 
was the reply. "Just tell me how much of a 
charge you've got against me, and 1 11 pay 
it,” he said to the landlord. 

" Suppose you’ve got money enough for 
that?” asked a farmer, coming in at that 
moment. 

"Guess so,” answered Grimes. " I’ve been 
to work lately, and, if Laug makes an honest 
bill, I can pay it.” 

Lang was too shrewd to wish to make a 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


239 


settlement at that time. "I can’t stop to 
reckon np the account this morning,” he 
said. " I haint posted my books for several 
days.” 

"I haint had anything here for two weeks, 
so the posting don’t make any difference. 
Just walk up to the desk, and let’s know how 
much I’ve got to pay for the cursed stuff. 
Now or never.” 

Thus urged, the landlord could no longer 
refuse, and, after turning the leaves of his 
ledger nervously for a short time, he told 
the amount of the bill. 

" Guess that’s a dollar more’n it ought to 
be ; but I can afford to pay it, seeing it’s the 
last.” 

"I declare, that’s the first settlement I’ve 
had for a week,” said Lang, changing his tac- 
tics. " I’ll treat all round for that. Walk 
up, gentlemen, and call for just what you 
like,” he added, clinking the money in his 
hand. " Come, Grimes, take a parting glass. 
You know we’ve always been good friends.” 

" Guess you think I’ve been talking bun- 


240 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


combe just to see how ’t would sound,” re- 
plied the man. "You’re mistaken there. 
I've nothing special against you except your 
business ; but I won’t take that glass till the 
next time I call.” 

Lang was disappointed in the result of his 
plans. He had hoped that Grimes would 
join them in drinking, and thus give the lie 
to his words. Instead of this he walked out, 
leaving his glass untouched, while others 
drank the liquor with great relish. 

"Made a fool of myself that time,” thought 
the landlord. "But Grimes paid the bill ; so 
that’s one consolation.” 

On his way home, Grimes met Dexter Rol- 
lins, and the two had a long, earnest conver- 
sation. "How are things at home?” asked 

O 

Rollins. 

"Bad enough, I guess. The fact is, I 
don’t know much about it. When I came 
away this morning, Marv Ann asked me to 
bring home some flour. She said there was 
a good deal needed ; but the baby began to 
cry, and I did’t stop to hear any more. Our 


OUT OF THE FI HE . 


241 


supper was poor enough last night, and we 
didn’t have much of a breakfast.” 

"You didn’t get the flour?” 

"No, I forgot it. Guess that’s something 
of a lie,” he added ; " for 1 didn’t mean to get 
it when she asked me. I was bound for a 
drunk.” 

"But you changed your mind.” 

"I should think I did. It looks like it, 
and I guess I’d better go back to Starkey’s if 
IVe got any money.” 

He emptied his pockets, and found enough 
to pay for a few groceries, so turned back 
with his friend. 

Lang saw them coming down the village 
street, and went to the door to invite them in. 
Much to his chagrin, they passed by on the 
other side, never once looking towards the 
house where they had wasted so much precious 
time. Defeated again. 

When the two men started for home, each 
carried as much as he could well manage. 
Starkey had given Enos Grimes as much 
credit as he desired ; and his wife was as 


16 


242 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


much astonished as any poor woman could 
be, who had expected blows, yet received 
food and kind words. 

"That is good news,” said Aunt Lizzie 
Batch, when her son told her of Enos Grimes 
resolution to lead a better life. 

"It is irood news, and I trust he’ll perse- 

x j 

vere,” was the reply. "Dec Rollins has him 
under his eye, and will keep him straight if 
anybody can. I wish somebody could start 
Reuben Smith on another track. He drinks 
and smokes, and smokes and drinks, from 
one week’s end to another, until he’s com- 
pletely stupefied with rum and tobacco.” 

"There don’t seem to be much hope for 
him, unless something wakes him up, and I 
don’t know but ’twould take a thunderbolt to 
do that.” 

"Pretty near that, mother,” replied Mr. 
Batch. "If he was stripped of everything, 
without so much as a shelter for his head, he 
mmht beefin to think.” 

c? o 

Not a thunderbolt from heaven, but his 
own carelessness, left him in this position. 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


243 


One night, in the early part of December, he 
came from the village at a late hour, in his 
usual drowsy state. Just before leaving 
Lang's he had refilled his pipe, and, of 
course, smoked until ready for bed. 

About one o’clock, he was roused from 
sleep by his wife’s cry of fire. Even then he 
stopped to rub his eyes before he fairly 
opened them ; but this was his only delay. 
He was, for once, fully awake. He rushed 
out, shouting for help at the top of his voice. 

The barn was enveloped in flames, and a 
strong wind blowing towards the house. 
Already some burning brands had fallen 
upon the roof, and the dry shingles were be- 
ginning to crackle and blaze. At sight of 
this, the voice of Reuben Smith again rang 
out upon the night air, and this time it was 
heard by Lizzie Balch, who, springing from 
her bed in fright, roused every member of 
the family by her shrill cries. 

While her husband was calling on others 
for help, Mrs. Smith was trying to help her- 
self. Partially dressing, she began collect- 


244 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


1112: what was most valuable in the house. 
Bedding and clothing were brought from the 

OOO 

low chamber, every corner of which was 
lighted, and by the time Reuben came in, 
a huge bundle was ready, which must be 
carried beyond reach of the fire. 

"Be quick about it,” she said. "We can’t 
stay here long.” 

Mr. Balch, and a young man working for 
him, made all possible haste to the scene of 
disaster, and reached there in time to assist in 
savins: some of the contents of the house. 
There had been no thought of trying to save 
the house, and probably such an effort would 
have been useless. 

" Without a shelter for his head.” This 
was the condition of Reuben Smith. Only a 
heap of blackened ruins marked the spot 
where his home had been. In the cold, gray 
morning, surrounded by many of his towns- 
men, lie looked upon the scene of desolation. 

There was much questioning in regard to 
the origin of the fire, and many surmises as 
to how it might have happened. "Were 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


245 


you in the barn last night, after you came 
home ? ” asked one and another. 

The reply to this was invariably in the 
negative, and Reuben Smith told the truth ; 
but had ho been answering upon oath in re- 
gard to the cause of the tire, he would have 
felt obliged to acknowledge that, although 
not in the barn, he was in the horse-shed 
adjoining the barn. 

While there, by some accident, his pipe 
was knocked from his mouth. Glad that it 
was not broken, he never thought of looking 
to see if some spark had fallen into the 
straw, but replaced his pipe and went to the 
house. - 

"Were the horse and cow burned in the 
barn?” asked one who came galloping up 
after every one else had discussed the whole 
matter. 

"No, indeed. They wa’n’t near the barn,” 
was the reply. 

"Where then?” asked the astonished 
questioner. 

" Down in the lot, safe and sound as ever.” 


24G 


OUT OF TIIK FIRE. 


What! turned out at this time of year?” 
"To be sure. That is of a piece with all 
Smith’s management, and they’re about as 
well oil' there as they would have been in 
the barn. There’s an old sheep-shed down 
]iy the great rock, and a hay-stack not far 
oil', so they’d get enough to eat.” 

"Lost your pipe, too, haint you, lvcuben? 
said one disposed to be facetious. 

"Small loss,” responded another. "There’s 
plenty more to bo had, and they don t cost 
much either.” 

What had been saved was strewed on the 
sides of the road for some distance, — baskets, 
boxes, and bundles mingled in strange confu- 
sion. Mrs. Smith, after vainly endeavoring 
to improve their arrangement, was persuaded 
to go home with Mrs. Balch. 

Aunt Lizzie endeavored to comfort her in 
her misfortune, but she was answered only 
with tears and lamentations. 

« I’m afraid you don’t feel right about this,” 
said the old lady, kindly. " You ought to 
be thankful that your lives are spared. 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


247 


You'll have enough to keep house with. 
You needn’t worry about that.” 

"I’ve no house to keep,” exclaimed the 
homeless woman; "but that’s a small part 
of my trouble. The fire haint made much 
difference, — only taken it a little sooner, and 
it might as well come now as ever.” 

No direct reply was made to this. Every- 
body knew that Reuben Smith was deeply in 
debt, and dependent upon the mercy of his 
creditors. Many of these had met that 
morning, drawn together by the unusual occur- 
rence, and Luther Balch, always acting 
promptly and decidedly, spoke to them in 
behalf of the unfortunate man. 

"We must waive our claims upon him for 
the present, and give him a fair chance to 
recover from this,” he said. 

"It's no use to do anything for him,” an- 
swered a hard-faced man, whose only virtue 
was that of temperance. "lie'll drink up 
everything he can get, and I want my money 
for my own use. I’ve waited for it long 
enough.” 

O 


248 OUT OF THE FIRE. 

" How much do.es he owe you ? ” asked an 
- old man at his side. 

The sum was so insignificant that the debt- 
or was ashamed to state it, and left for 
home. 

" We must do more than give him a chance ,” 
said the old man. " We must <?ive him sub- 
stantial aid , and I move that Luther Balch 
take the matter in hand and see what is best. 
It’s no time now to talk about bad habits 
and shiftlessness.” 

This suo’o’estion was received with favor, 
all present pledging themselves to aid in the 
good work. 

Reuben Smith had been to look after his 
horse and cow, thus giving an opportunity 
for this conversation. When he returned, 
the men began to disperse, and he was soon 
left with only Mr. Balch and Uncle Turner, 
the old man who had spoken in his behalf. 

"Well, Reuben, this is one of the way- 
marks in your life,” he said. "It seems 
some like a stopping-place too. Yon won’t 
be likely to forget it very soon.” 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


249 


" I shan’t ever forget it,” was the reply. 

" Likely not. I know it’s hard ; but you 
must keep up good courage, and go to work, 
determined to make up your loss. We are 
all ready to help you ; but we don’t want to 
pay any rum bills.” 

This last was said in a tone little above a 
whisper, and in the same low voice was 
asked the question, " Don’t you think it’s 
time now for you to stop drinking? ” 

" Guess ’tis,” was the reply. " Guess 
’twas a good while ago, and I knew it, but 
I didn’t stop.” 

" Will you stop now ? ” asked his friend. 

" Guess I’d better not make many prom- 
ises,” answered Reuben, "and then I shan’t 
break any.” 

"We’ll go down and have some breakfast, 
now,” said Mr. Balch, as Uncle Turner got 
into his wagon to drive away. " I feel the 
need of some myself, and I rather think you 
do.” 

His companion protested that he had no 
wish for breakfast, but he would not accept 


250 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


the excuse. They walked slowly away, 
Reuben casting many a lingering look be- 
hind him. 

Breakfast was waiting, and the whole 
family welcomed him. He was urged to eat ; 
but the food choked him. "You must eat,” 
said Aunt Lizzie. "There’s a great deal to 
be done and thought of to-day ; you must 
both eat. Be thankful for the present, and 
trust for the future. There’s always a way 
out of trouble if we do the best we can.” 

" Mother is right,” said her son. " There’s 
a way out of this trouble, and I have faith to 
believe w r e shall find it.” 

"I wish I had faith,” responded Mrs. 
Smith, brokenly. "It might give me a little 
courage.” 

O 

Reuben said nothing ; but he closed his 
lips firmly, and his eyes had a wide-awake 
look, very different from their usual sleepy 
expression. 

Breakfast over, then came family worship, 
which here was never omitted. After this 
there was a consultation in regard to what 


OUT OF THE. FIRE. 


251 


was best to do. Mr. Balch offered his quests 
a home until they could find some permanent 
accommodation ; but Reuben thought they 
had better move directly into the old house 
Dexter Rollins had left. 

" It’s a poor place, I know,” he said. 
"But it’s better than none, and convenient to 
my work. Do you feel willing to go there?” 
he asked, turning to his wife. 

" Anywhere,” she replied. "It don’t make 
any difference to me, only I should like to 
get my things together somewhere. There 
aint many of them, but I want to keep what 
there are left.” 

"Then, if that’s the thing to be done, we’ll • 
move your goods right up this morning, 
and do what we can towards making the 
house comfortable,” said Mr. Batch, cheer- 
fully. 

" Guess we ought to see the owner about 

O 

it first,” suggested Reuben. 

" No need of that,” responded his host. 
"I’ll take the responsibility. He’ll be glad 
enough to have a tenant.” 


252 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


" I’d better go up now,” said Mrs. Smith, 
rising. 

O 

"Not till I am ready to go with you,” re- 
plied Mrs. Batch. 

"You can go any time, mother,” said 
Mary. " Lizzie and I can do all the work, 
if grandmother will only oversee it a lit- 
tle.” 

"Yes, you can go,” added grandmother. 
"That is, if Samantha thinks she must go. 
Seems to me she’d better wait a while, but I 
suppose she feels anxious to find out what 
there is left.” 

George was soon ready with the horse and 
wagon, and the two women started for the 
old house. As they passed the smouldering 
ruins Mrs. Smith began to weep, but George 
called her attention to a pig that seemed to 
be exploring the premises. "Is that your 
pig ? ” he asked. 

"It looks like it/' she replied. "It must 
be,” she added, after a moment's scrutiny. 
" I supposed that had gone with everything 
else.” 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


253 


" You’re so much better off than you ex- 
pected,” said Mrs. Balch. " That will be 
quite an addition to your living. If Rhoda 
was here, she’d call it a good sign.” 

The hens were next observed, scratching 
for a living as usual. 

"Your live stock have escaped. That’s 
fortunate,” said Mrs. Balch, anxious to pre- 
- sent the bright side of the picture. When 
they reached their destination, she saw a 
bright side, even there. The house was clean 
with the exception of the dust collected since 
it had been vacated. 

There was some dry wood near the door, 
with which a blazing tire was soon made, and 
when the first load of goods had been ar- 
ranged it really seemed quite cheerful. 

There was busy work that morning, and, 
before any one had thought of dinner, the 
horn sounded. " That means dinner,” said 
Mr. Balch. "We’ll go down now and leave 
George to watch the fire. I suppose you can 
wait,” he added to the bov, who could always 
do whatever his father desired. "Perhaps 


254 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


I’ll send up Lizzie if you’d like lier com- 
pany.” 

Lizzie was very glad to go ; so taking a 
basket, containing dinner enough for herself 
and for her brother, she made her way up 
the hill. Stopping to look at the ruins, she 
forgot her errand until a shrill whistle was 
heard. 

George had seen her from the window, and, 
although willing to wait for his dinner, if 
necessary, he thought Lizzie could afford to 
postpone her sight-seeing a while. 

" There, I’m all out of breath,” she ex- 
claimed, when she gave him the basket. ' I 
know you must be hungry, but I didn’t think 
anything about it when I got to the fire. 
Isn’t it dreadful?” 

" What, the fire or the dinner?” asked her 
brother, laughing. 

" The fire, to be sure. I guess you’ll think 
the dinner is pretty good. Mary and I 
cooked it.” 

"It is good,” he replied, when he had 
tested its merits. " But did you leave any at 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


255 


home? You must have brought away a large 
share of it.” 

" You’d better ask the folks about that, 
when they come back,” said Lizzie, with a 
significant toss of her head. 

o 

An abundance of good things crowned the 

O O 

table at home, and this time they were 
appreciated. Mr. and Mrs. Smith ate 
heartily, praising the skill of the young 
girls. 

Reuben was very impatient to go back to 
his work so soon as dinner was over ; but 
Aunt Lizzie insisted that he should rest a 
while. 

"I am going up myself, pretty soon, and 
see what can be done with that apology for a 
barn,” said Mr. Balch. "Your horse and cow 
must have some kind of shelter.” 

" I’ve been thinking about them,” answered 
their owner ; " and — ” 

"There’s Lang,” interrupted Aunt Lizzie, 
as some one drove to the door. 

" Guess it’s me he’s after, said Reuben 
Smith, as his host went out to meet the rum- 


256 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


seller. " Your folks don’t have much to do 
with him.” 

"No,” replied the old lady. "Luther has a 
poor opinion of him and his business.” 

Lam>' had called to see Mr. Smith, as he 

O 

* informed Mr. Balch. lie had a little busi- 
ness that way, and thought he’d like to see 
his old friend, after his misfortune. "I sup- 
pose we’d better ail take hold and give him a 

lift.” 

"I hope everybody will feel inclined to help 
him,” was the reply. "His creditors that I 
have seen are willing to wait tor what lie 
owes them, and now, if he’ll let drink alone, 
he may get along.” 

The rumseller scowled at this, and again 
asked for Mr. Smith, when Mr. Balch went 
into the house. 

" Do you owe that man ? ” he asked his 
guest. 

"Yes,” was the reply. "Pretty deep, too, 
I guess.” 

" He’ll probably call for his pay right off.” 

" Guess he will. He aiut one to wait.” 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


257 


" Well, don’t make any promises this morn- 
ing-” 

"Not one to that man,” answered Reuben, 
emphatically. " I’ve made enough to him.” 

Mr. Land’s interview with his old friend 
was short, and the result soon known. He 
had hardly turned his horse when his debtor 
was in the house. 

" Short settlement that,” said Mr. Balch. 

" Guess ’twill be a long one before we get 
through. Lang’s worse than I thought he 

o o o 

was.” 

"I always told you he was a bad man. 
What has happened now to open your eyes ? ” 

" Guess he don’t want anything said about 
it,” replied Reuben. "It won’t do any hurt 
to tell of it here, and I don’t care if it does. 
I never mean to ask any more favors of 
him.” 

" Did you ever get any favors from him ? ” 
asked Aunt Lizzie. 

"He calls them so,” answered the excited 
man. "He wants me to pay him the first of 
January. Says he’ll knock off ten dollars 
17 


258 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


from the bill if I will, and subscribe some- 
thing handsome for me besides.” 

"What did you tell him?” asked his wife. 
" Told him I hadn’t any money ; but he said 
I should have some given to me, and then I 
could pay up. Guess he’ll wait a while. 
He’s had a good deal of my money first and 
last. He didn’t feel right when he went 
away, and he’ll make me trouble yet.” 
"He’s made trouble enough already,” said 
Samantha. " I wish he’d go where you 
couldn’t see him again.” 

O 

"So that’s his game, is it?” exclaimed Mr. 
Balch, after some consideration. "Now, if 
you’ll follow my advice, I’ll guarantee that 
you won’t have any trouble with Lang ; and 
he‘11 wait for his pay just as long as you say.” 
" I’ll do it,” replied Reuben. " If there’s 
any way to get rid of him, I should like to 
know what ’tis." 

The afternoon was too short for all that 
was necessary to be done, but night found 
Mr. and Mrs. Smith settled in their new 
home. By the generosity of their neighbors 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


259 


their pantry was filled to overflowing, and in 
the cellar was a good supply of vegetables. 

No rum, no tobacco; and if Reuben Smith 
followed the advice of his best friends, these 
would never again find a place in his home. 


\ 



“ Through all our land the cry goes up 
From humble cot and lordly home; 

Death lurks within the poisoned cup, 

And he who drinks shall seal his doom.” 

The New Year had come, and with it work 
for Rhoda Smith. Her uncle was smitten 
down with paralysis, and lay, for several 
days, in a half-unconscious state, seeming to 
recognize no one but his niece. When she 
was beside him he rested quietly, and, without 
a thought for herself, she watched over him 
day and night. When first he could express 
his wants by signs she alone understood him ; 
and, when able to speak, it was her quick ear 
which caught the broken words. 

" Master would die without her,” said Mrs. 
Hawthorne to her husband. "She’s more to 
him now than his own children would have 
been She knows what to do better than fine 
, ladies.” 


260 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


261 


"I hope shell be well paid for it,” was the 
reply. rf It’s not easy to watch and serve as 
she does. I mind she’s ^ettins; thin.” 

Others beside the gardener could see this. 
The physician who attended Mr. Dalton re- 
monstrated with her. " Your uncle will al- 
ways need care,” he said. "If you break 
down now, you will be obliged to leave him 
entirely.” 

Robert Dalton, who lived in the same part 
of the city, called ofteiv to see his brother, 
and, finding her always at her post, inquired 
when she slept. 

"When my patient sleeps,” was the re- 

ply- 

Mrs. Fulton, having an eye to the property 
of her childless brother, sent each day to in- 
quire for his health, besides making frequent 
calls. 

These calls, however, always troubled him. 
She came rustling into the room, elaborately 
dressed, and overwhelming him with her pro- 
testations of regard, while she never offered 
to sit by him, even for an hour. Fortunately , 


262 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


her visits were short, to the relief of Rhoda, 
as well as her uncle. 

" She isn’t much like your mother,” he said 
one day to his niece. " Mira thought more 
of others than herself, but Laura cares for 
di •ess and show.” 

Not the least of Rhoda’s tasks was reading 
aloud the daily paper, her uncle being unable 
to read for himself. When she had finished 
this, she was often entirely exhausted ; and, 
at length Mrs. Hawthorne ventured to tell 
" the master,” as she called Mr. Dalton. " I 
hope you’ll not think me too bold, sir,” she 
said, "but I’ve seen it a long time, and I’m 
fretted for fear you’ll lose her with the rest. 
You might find a lad who would read to you. 
Perhaps, too, a servant could do some of the 
things Miss Smith has taken on herself,” she 
added, wishing to present the whole sub- 
ject. 

" I am very glad you have spoken of this ; 
I ought to have seen it myself, but I didn’t. 
The next time Mr. Trull comes in I’ll ask him 
if he knows of any one I can get for a reader. 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


263 


I suppose there are servants enough in the 
house.” 

" Sure there are, and glad to wait upon 
you. There’s a young lad, too, conies in 
sometimes of an evening and reads to me. 
I’m thinking his mother would take it kind 
of you if you would give him a trial. She 
is a widow and has only her hands for sup- 
port.” 

" Send him in to-morrow, and if he suits 
me I’ll engage him.” 

" I’ve been very selfish,” he said to Ehoda, 
when she came in soon after. "Mrs. Haw- 
thorne has just told me that you are not 
well. I ought to have known I was asking 
too much of you. We are going to have 
you rest now, and let some one else read to 
me . ” 

Ehoda could not say that this was unneces- 
sary. She found her health failing under the 
long-continued draft upon her strength, and 
was glad that the considerate kindness of 
Mrs. Hawthorne had spared her the task of 
communicating this to her uncle. 


264 


OUT OF THE FIFE. 


"You are nearly sick, Rhoda,” he said, 
questioningly, after her somewhat evasive 
reply to his first remarks. " Order the horses 
and go over to Mrs. Fulton’s ; you have been 
confined too closely.” 

"I should prefer not to go out to-day. My 
head is aching, and sleep will be the best 
medicine for that.” 

" Then go and sleep ; but first, let me see 
how you look.” Rhoda knelt by the couch 
on which her uncle was lying, while, with 
his dimmed eyes, he scanned her face. " You 
look sick, child,” he exclaimed. "It is time 
Mrs. Hawthorne spoke to me. Please ring 
the bell.” 

"I wish to see Mrs. Hawthorne,” he said 
to the servant, who answered the bell. 

The house-keeper appeared directly. " Here 
is some one who needs the best care you can 
give her,” said Mr. Dalton, pointing to his 
niece. 

" She shall have it,” was the prompt reply. 
"I’ve seen that all along.” 

"Send for Dr. Payne, if necessary.” 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


265 


" We’ll try rest and good nursing first,” 
said Mrs. Hawthorne. 

”1 need nothing but rest. I am only 
tired, and shall soon be well as ever.” With 
this assurance, Rhoda left the room ; but her 
uncle looked after her anxiously, and in half 
an hour sent a servant to ask if she was 
better. 

" Master’s not in his best judgment to ask 
so soon as this,” replied Mrs. Hawthorne. 
"However, tell him she’s resting.” 

Rhoda remained in her room several days, 
and frequent messages from her uncle forbade 
all anxiety on his account. The lad who had 
been recommended to him as reader gave en- 
tire satisfaction. 

"Master’s quite taken Avith him,” Mrs. 
Hawthorne said to Rhoda; "and I’m sure 
you’ll like him yourself. James Burton’s a 
kind, honest lad, and a great comfort to his 
mother, Avho has had trouble enough in her 
day.’’ 

"What trouble?” Avas asked. 

"The trouble many a poor woman has. 


266 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


Her husband took to -drinking and abused 
her. He died a year ago, and I’m sure she 
can’t mourn for him. She’s better off since.’ 

The listener wondered if this curse of 
drunkenness was universal, and if every- 
where men squandered their wages, while 
women wept and starved. 

" It's often so,” said her companion, in 
answer to a remark expressive of this feel- 
ing. " But it’s not always that starving 
comes with drinking. There’s many a wretch- 
ed home where there’s plenty. I’ve seen it 
often. The rich suffer as well as the poor. 
Thank God, my Thomas signed the pledge 
before we were married ! I’d not trust him 
without.” 

" Then he doesn’t drink wine.” 

" Never. He’d break his pledge if he did. 
He tried to have young master give it up.’ 
Here the speaker paused abruptly, her face 
flushing scarlet. 

"Who is Robert that Uncle William talks 
about?” asked Rhoda. "Is it Uncle Rob- 
ert?” 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


267 


"I never hear him speak of any other 
Robert,” replied the house-keeper. 

. Her companion was looking at her sharply 
as she said this, and immediately proposed 
another question. "Had he ever a son? I 
think so,” she added. 

While Mr. Dalton was sick at Mr. Gray’s, 
in his delirium, he often talked of Robert; 
sometimes coupling his name with endearing 
epithets, and sometimes with reproaches. 
During his sickness in the winter, this same 
name was often repeated, and in a way which 
roused the curiosity of his niece. 

She at first supposed her Uncle Robert was 
the person intended, but within a few days 
she had thought otherwise. Not considering 
it improper to ask one who had been so long 
in the family, the manner of Mrs. Hawthorne 
satified her that her suspicions were correct. 

Rhoda was soon left alone, and she then 
occupied herself in recalling the circumstan- 
ces which had led her to suspect that her 
Uncle William had once been the father of 
a son Robert. 


268 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


If this were true, why was his name never 
mentioned as were those of the daughters? 
Was he dead, or was he living, estranged 
from his family ? These and many other ques- 
tions were suggested. 

She now remembered that, in the early 
part of their acquaintance, her Aunt Laura 
had made some remarks that were entirely 
unintelligible, and, finding she was not under- 
stood, immediately directed attention to an 
object of absorbing interest. 

The family pride would forbid any revela- 
tion which might detract from its honor. 
The Daltons claimed wealth and position as 
their inalienable right. Mira had lost both 
through the dissipation of her husband, and 
her existence was henceforth ignored. 

Ehoda no longer wondered that she had 
been allowed to remain unrecognized by 
those upon whom she had a natural claim. 
If there was a dark page in the history ot 
William Dalton’s life, it was carefully con- 
cealed, and hers was not the hand to litt the 
veil. 


OUT OF THE FIEE. 


269 


Ho was broken with age and grief. This 
thought ever stayed the tide of feeling which 
the memory of early years awakened. She 
was not faultless, that she should condemn 
others. There had been deeper wrongs and 
sadder lives than hers. Again and again she 
repeated Aunt Lizzie’s words, " God knows 
best.” 

Her cousins said there had been a wonder- 
ful improvement in her manners since she 
came to the city, and mingled with refined, 
cultivated people. This could not but pro- 
duce a change ; yet the heart lessons she had 
learned in secret, with an opeu Bible before 
her, had far more influence. Humiliation 
and repentance for past ingratitude were 
more potent than rules of etiquette. 

In the early part of her uncle’s illness she 
had received a letter, giving particulars of 
the fire which had destroyed the house of 
Reuben Smith. " I’m glad of it,” she said to 
herself. "He needed something to give him 
a shock, and if this don’t set him to thinking 
nothing will. If it wasn’t for his wife, I 


270 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


should hope the people would leave him to 

make up his own loss.” 

A second letter informed her that he was 
hard at work, getting out lumber for a new 
house, and everybody was glad to help him. 

" He has settled with Lang, and says there 
-will never be another such bill against him, 
wrote Mrs. Gray. ' His wife rejoices with 
fear and trembling.” 

In her days of rest Rhoda had time to think 
of them, and give expression to her sympathy. 
After all , it was no worse for Reuben Smith 
to drink cheap liquors, than for another and 
wealthier cousin to sip costly wines. He 
would have preferred choice cigars to a pipe 
and coarse tobacco ; but, these being beyond 
his means, was that any reason why he 
should not solace himself with the substitute? 

There was always wine upon the dinner- 
table when her uncle was present ; and, in 
most of the houses where she had visited, it 
was considered indispensable. This suielj 
was not temperance. 

The. evening after she had startled Mis. 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


271 


Hawthorne by her abrupt inquiry, this wom- 
an rapped at her door. "I have come "to an- 
swer the question you asked me,” she said. 
'I wouldn't have spoken of it, for master for- 
bade a word being said, only I think you’ve 
mostly found it out yourself. Thomas says 
I’d better tell you, so if anything happens 
you’ll be prepared. Master had a son Rob- 
ert, but he went away five years ago.” 

"Is he alive?'’ asked Rhoda, unable to re- 
strain her impatience. 

"That’s more than I can tell. Master be- 
lieves him dead, and the chances are all that 
way. That’s not a proper way to speak,” 
she added, directly. "God rules, and noth- 
ing happens in the world. It’s a sad story, 
but the like is often known. Robert was a 
handsome lad, tall and straight, with hair and 
eyes black as your own. Master and mis- 
tress just worshipped him, and one couldn’t 
wonder. My husband said there wasn’t his 
like in all the town.” 

Never once did the listener turn her eyes 
as this was said, half-breathless in her anxiety 


272 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


to hear what would follow ; but Mrs. Haw- 
thorne was obliged to pause. 

"He learned to drink wine,” she said, at . 
length. " Master drank it, and it would have 
been strange if he hadn’t. He never was 
much looked after, for twas thought he 
couldn’t go wrong ; and there are plenty of 
villains in wait for young men with money. 
One of them snared him and got him to 
gambling. Thomas says they’re so smooth 
at first, that nobody suspects how black their 
hearts are. 

"Didn’t Uncle William know it?” asked 
Ithoda. "I should think he would have 
been quick to see.” 

"He was the last to see, and he wasn’t a 
man to be told,” replied the house-keeper. 
"My husband knew Robert couldn’t bear 
drink, and often talked with him about it; 
but the mischief was worse than any one 
thought. Ah, well!” she added, after a 
short silence ; " it’s no use telling all. One 
morning young master was gone, and before 
ni°ht we knew he was on the water. 

O 


OUT OF THE FiitE. 


273 


"There must have been a reason for that,” 
said the listener, in an excited tone. 

"In course there was. Forgery was the 
reason,” whispered Mrs. Hawthorne. "Rob- 
ert had forced his father’s name for a lar^e 
amount to meet losses in gambling. It was 
a dreadful blow to the whole family ; but it 
was hushed up, and few outside knew the 
truth.” 

"Was he never heard from afterwards?” 
"Not directly. The vessel in which he 
took passage was wrecked, and only one of 
all on board saved. He was picked up after 
floating for several hours, and gave his name 
as John West. The family went into 
mourning, and saw no company ; but his 
name was never spoken after the first few 
days. Mistress said it was master’s orders. 
Poor man ! lie’s never been the same since. 
Thomas heard there was trouble in more 
ways than one. Money was to be paid, but 
that wasn’t the worst.” 

"I never dreamed of this,” said Rhoda. " I 
thought Uncle William had always been 
18 




274 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


prosperous and happy, until his wife and 
daughters died.” 

"Ah, miss ! the rich have their troubles as 
well as the poor ; and they’re often far 
harder to bear when pride shuts the lips. If 
master would speak about Robert sometimes, 
he mi°iit be comforted ; but it would be 
more than my place is worth to have him 

know that I told you. 

" And drink w r as the cause of it all ? ” 

"Yes, miss,” was the reply. Thomas 
thinks so, and he has seen much of it. But 
he never’ll believe that young Robert is 

dead.” 

" Xever believe he is dead ! exclaimed 
Rhoda. " You said there was but one saved, 

and his name was John West.” 

"It’s an easy matter to change one’s 
name,” replied Airs. Hawthorne. That 
would snve a chance to get entirely away 
from all knowledge.” 

« What a mercy it would be if lie should 
come back to gladden his father s last days ! 
said her companion. 


OUT OF THE FIKE. 


275 


"Ah, yes, and it’s my daily prayer that 
God’s good providence may so order it.” 

Carefully and well was this secret guarded, 
but in hours of weakness the heart had been 
its own betrayer. The hidden closet had 
been opened, and the skeleton revealed. 

Whenever her uncle had seemed unhappy 
or troubled, Rhoda attributed it to his recent 
bereavement ; and when these moods were 
upon him, she had carefully avoided every- 
thing which might seem like intrusion upon 
his grief. 

"I am thankful to see you again,” said Mr. 
Dalton, when, two days after this strange 
story had been related, she entered his room. 
"I have been very anxious about you. If 
I should lose you there would be no one left, 
and my old heart could hardly bear the last 
stroke.” 

"I am better, and quite able to come back 
as nurse,” said Rhoda. " There is no cause 
for anxiety on my account.” 

" I shall be very glad to have you with 
me,” was the reply ; " and I will try to b^ 


276 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


more considerate in future. The reading is 
taken out of your hands. My boy is famous ; 
never gets tired, and is happy as a bird. He 
knows something about nursing too. You’ll 
see him in a short time. He’s punctual as 
the clock.” 

Mr. Dalton was now able to leave his bed, 
and, with the aid of a servant, walk a few 
steps, although one side was still nearly use- 
less. He was gradually improving, and his 
friends entertained strong hopes that he might 
yet regain a comfortable degree of health. 

But he had no such expectations. "I am 
too old to recover from such an attack,” he 
said ; and his physician frankly expressed the 
same opinion. 

Bkoda, seeing him so much better, could 
not avoid taking courage, and spoke confi- 
dently of the time when he would be well. 
"We will go to Mr. Gray’s in the spring,” 
she said. " There you will gain strength 
rapidly.” 

He shook his head doubtfully. " Shall 
you miss me when I go?” he asked. " We 

%/ O 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


277 


have not known each other long, but you are 
very dear to me, and it would be pleasant to 
feel that I should be missed by one.” 

"Miss you?” she repeated, sorrowfully. 
" I shall be orphaned again when you leave 
me ; but I trust that will not be for many 
years.” 

"It will come soon,” was the reply. 
" Strange that we think so little of death 
when it is inevitable. I have seldom thought 
of it until within the last live years. There 
is nothing like sorrow and trouble for bring- 
ing another world in view. It seems very 
near to me now, and I sometimes fear that 
my whole life has been wasted.” 

Just then there was a light tap on the 
door, and, in answer to Mr. Dalton's cheerful 
"Come in,” a bright-eyed boy entered the 
room quietly, and stood by the chair of the in- 
valid. Passing his hand caressingly over the 
brown curls, the face of the old man lighted 
up with a smile. "Are you getting tired of 
your task? ” he asked. 

"No, sir,” was the reply. "I like coming, 


278 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


and mother told me to thank you many times 
for the money you sent her.” 

" She must thank you, not me. I only 

paid your wages.” 

"I couldn’t earn so much as that,” said the 
boy. "Mother called it a present, and said 
I must always remember to pray for you. 
She will.” 

" Well, it does not matter whether we call 
the money wages or a present ; I hope it will 
do your mother good. Here is a lady whose 
acquaintance I wish you to make. She has 
been accustomed to having boys and girls 
around her until she came to live with her old 
uncle, so I expect you will he good friends.” 

James looked up to the lady and replied 
to her words with an ease and grace which 
went far towards establishing a friendship 
between them. 

" Shall I read now ? ” lie asked a moment 

after, taking up the paper. 

Mr. Dalton looked at his niece. " Don t 
mind me,” she said. "I shall be very glad 
to hear some reading.” 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


279 


Rhoda did not wonder that her uncle con- 
sidered his boy famous, as, in a clear, dis- 
tinct voice, he read on, without any apparent 
effort, seeming to know just what his listener 
would wish to hear. At last, Mr. Dalton 
thought the news of the paper must be ex- 
hausted, and told him he might rest for a 
while, and then take up the book he had 
commenced the day before. 

In taking something from his pocket, the 
boy accidentally drew out a small, handsome- 
ly bound volume, which fell to the floor. 

" What have you there ? ” asked Mr. Dal- 
ton. 

" A Testament,” was the reply. " My old 
one was so badly worn mother said I might 
have a new one, and I went to buy it this 
morning.” 

"It is a very nice copy,” said Rhoda, ex- 
amining it with interest. 

"I think so,” replied the boy. f M wanted 
it very much, to carry to Sabbath school.” 

"Then you go to Sabbath school,” said 
Mr. Dalton. 


280 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


"Yes, sir." 

" What lesson do you have for to-morrow ?” 

"The first chapter of John." 

"Read it, so I may know how much you 
have to learn." 

" I have learned it already, and I will re- 
peat it if you would like to have me." 

Rhoda opened to the chapter, and James 
commenced the recitation, which was com- 
pleted without mistake. 

"You have done well,” said Mr. Dalton, 

although, if the truth was told, he judged 

% 

more by the promptness, than by any knowl- 
edge of the Scripture. Then he seemed lost 
m thought for a few minutes, but roused 
himself when James took a book and com- 
menced reading:. 

As the days went by, the usual routine of 
the house went on, and friends came to con- 
gratulate Mr. Dalton upon his improved 
health. Rhoda, relieved from the pressure 
of care and anxiety, was well and cheerful. 
The house-keeper’s room was still a favorite 
resort, and many were the long conversations 


281 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 

enjoyed there, when each talked of those 
things in which she was most interested. 
Mrs. Hawthorne and her husband were the 
only members of the family who had any 
true regard for religion, and here, if any- 
where, must sympathy be sought in the 
study of the Bible. 

The health of her uncle was here discussed, 
the unfortunate life of his son, and the possi- 
bilities of this son’s return. There was no 
ground for any expectation of such an event 
except the impression which Thomas Haw- 
thorne had, in some way, received ; but they 
found great pleasure in talking of it and cal- 
culating its effects. 

For once, impression was correct. One 
night in March, when the wind was blowing 
a gale, and the leafless trees bent and swayed 
beneath its power, the house-keeper entered 
the room of Bhoda Smith at a late hour, 
without even a warning rap. 

" Master Robert is back ! Master Robert 
is back !” she exclaimed, in a hoarse whisper, 
which betrayed her intense excitement. 


282 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


"What ! ” asked Rhoda, springing from 
the bed, and but half comprehending the im- 
port of the words she had heard. 

"Master Robert is back,” was a^ain re- 
peated, and, by this time, the speaker had 
thrown herself into a chair quite exhausted. 
"Thomas has just come from him,” she 
added. 

" Where is he?” asked her companion. 

"At one of the hotels,” was the reply. 
"Thomas saw him in the street and knew 
him, though he is much changed. His eye 
betrayed him.” 

" Why didn’t he come home ? ” 

"He wouldn’t come till sure of a welcome. 
He knows his hither s pride. When he heard 
the mistress and young ladies were gone, he 
was nigh to break his heart. He wept as 
though he’d never stop.” 

Rhoda was now as much excited as her 
companion, and asked innumerable questions, 
few of which could be answered. 

" Robert is far different from what he was 
when he went away,” said Mrs. Hawthorne. 


OUT OF THE FIIIE. 


283 

" Thomas is sure he has given over his dissi- 
pated habits ; but there wasn’t much time to 
talk about it. I couldn’t sleep till I let you 
know, and master must be told in the morn- 
ing. Robert is to wait till he hears what his 
father says.” 

No sleep that night for Rhoda Smith. 
Vain was every effort. Upon her would de- 
volve the task of announcing to her uncle the 
arrival of his son, and this was sufficient 
cause for wakefulness. If her cousin had re- 
turned, resolved to lead a virtuous life, there 
would be great rejoicing ; but, if otherwise, 
his presence would be a perpetual grief. 

With trembling she went to her uncle the 
next morning. He had rested unusually 
well, and was in excellent spirits, welcoming 
her with much affection. She, on the con- 
trary, was so silent and reserved that he 
asked the cause. ”1 believe you are not 
looking well,” he said. 

”1 am well,” was the reply ; " but I have 
something to tell you.” 

" That is nothing to trouble you. If you 


284 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 

have a request to make you know it will be 
granted, to the half of my kingdom,” he 
said, laughing. 

7 o O 

"You had a son once,” said his niece, for- 
getting in her confusion the intention to ap- 
proach this subject carefully. 

" Who told you that?” he asked, almost 
fiercely. 

"Your own lips revealed it,” she answered. 

"It was in delirium then,” he said. "I 
would not willingly have mentioned his* 
name, even to you.” 

" W ere he to come back, would you wel- 
come him home? ” she asked. 

" Welcome him home ! ” he repeated, with 
a strange emphasis. "He dishonored me, 
but I forgave him, long ago. Yet the sea 
will not give up its dead. The vessel in 
which he sailed was wrecked, and all but 
one on board perished.” 

" He may have been that one, uncle.” 

"INo. The name of the saved man was 
John West.” 

Rhoda was about to reply to this, when 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


285 


her uncle seized her hand, and looking anx- 
iously into her face, exclaimed, " Why do 
you talk to me thus? Do you know any- 
thing of Robert, my Robert 9” he repeated, 
in accents of tenderness. 

" He might have changed his name,” sug- 
gested Rhoda, still fearing to tell the whole 
truth. 

" Did he ? ” asked the father. 

"Yes, uncle; and he has come back,” she 
replied. " He waits to know if you will re- 
ceive him.” 

"Where is he? Bring him to me, I can- 
not wait,” he said, vainly endeavoring to 

rise. 

It was with difficulty that Rhoda calmed 
his agitation, telling him that his son was in 
the city, but not in the house. 

"Then send Thomas for him at once, or” 
— He rang the bell, leaving the sentence un- 
finished. Joyfully this faithful friend and 
servant hastened with the message. 

Through all this, never once thought 
Rhoda of the change the return of the 


286 


OUT OF THE FIFE. 


cousin mi<dit make in her future. She was 
thinking only of her uncle and his great joy. 
Rejoicing with him, she sat listening to his 
expressions of thankfulness and delight, 
until a quick, firm step was heard on the 
stairs. Then she went out and met one 
whom she was afterwards to know as 
" Cousin Robert.” 

That interview between father and son, too 
sacred for any human eye to witness, was 
prolonged, while those most interested waited 
anxiously for the result. At length Rhoda 
was summoned, Mr. Dalton taking her by the 
hand, while clasping that of his son, said, 
"You are cousins. I trust you will be 
friends.” Then, turning to his son, he add 
ed, "I was a lonely old man until I found 
Rhoda. She has been like a daughter to 
me.” 

Their meeting was as cordial as could be 
desired. Robert expressing his gratitude 
that there had been some one to care for his 
father, and venturing the hope that she 
would look upon him as a brother when he 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


287 


had proved himself worthy of her confi- 
dence. 

Meanwhile James Burton came, and was 
told by Mrs. Hawthorne that master had 
company, and could not listen to any reading 
that day. Mr. Dalton was oblivious to the 
lapse of time as well as to every bodily want, 
and started with surprise when the dinner- 
bell sounded. 

"You will no longer be obliged to take 

O O 

your meals alone,” he said to Rhoda. " Go, 
now, but come again soon.” 

He watched them to the door, then closed 
his eyes to shut out every object which might 
distract his thoughts. He could hardly realize 
this great happiness which had so suddenly 
come to him. He sent away his dinner un- 
tasted. 

Dinner, below stairs, received but little 
more attention. Robert Dalton was too con- 
scious of the changes the last live years had 
wrought in the family to care for eating. 
He missed his mother and sisters, to whom 
he had been especially dear, and whose mem- 


288 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


ory had been present with him through all 
his wanderings. 

As usual, wine was placed upon the table. 
" I never drink it,” said Rhoda, as her cousin 
offered her a glass. 

" Then take it away,” he said to the ser- 
vant. " I never drink it. Nothing of the 
kind,” he added, as the obsequious servant 
proposed some other liquor. 

"I am glad you never drink wine,” ex- 
claimed Rhoda, overjoyed at finding one who 
sympathized with her in this matter. 

"I have drank it, and to my sorrow,” was 
the reply. "It was the cause of all my 
trouble. A man under the influence of wine, 
or other liquors, will commit acts at which 
he would otherwise shudder. The harpies 
of society understand this, and it would be 
Avell if the better portion knew it.” 

There was no lingering over dessert that 
day. Straight to his father’s room went 
Robert Dalton, and, but for the thoughtful- 
ness of Mrs. Hawthorne, master would have 
forgotten that eating was a necessary means 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


289 


of sustaining life. " I am living on more 
substantial food,” he said, as with her own 
hands she placed before him a daintily pre- 
pared dish. 

There were no great demonstrations of joy 
in that household ; no calling together of 
friends and kinsmen, to celebrate the return 
of this only son. On the contrary, admit- 
tance was denied to all. "We shall want a 
few days quite to ourselves,” said the elder 
Mr. Dalton, and his son fully agreed with 
him. 

When the young man had been at home 
for a week, Mr. Trull was summoned, and 
a long consultation took place between his 
senior partner and himself. He was a cau- 
tious man, not over-willing to put confidence 
in one who had betrayed a previous trust ; 
but money is power, and he yielded to the 
stronger influence. It was arranged that 
Robert Dalton should enter the store and 
have some share in the business. 

Of course, so strange an event as his re- 
turn could not but be known despite the best 


19 


290 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


efforts at secrecy, and many were the sur- 
mises in regard to his past as well as his fu- 
ture life. The history of the five years in 
which he had been a wanderer was grad- 
ually revealed to his father, who was dis- 
posed to look upon his faults with great 
charity. 

Drinking and gambling, the two vices 
which curse so many young men of our land, 
had tempted him to his ruin. Finding him- 
self involved in debts of honor, to escape 
the importunities of the heartless creditors 
who had first flattered, and then stripped 
him, he forged his father’s name for a large 
amount. With money thus obtained, he sat- 
isfied their demands, and then flight seemed 
the only means of avoiding disgrace and pun- 
ishment. When he left home, it was his in- 
tention to change his name so soon as he 
should reach a foreign shore, thus leaving no 

o 

clue to his friends. 

He was able to do this, but in a way dif- 
ferent from what he had expected, or desired. 
He had drawn money, sufficient not only to 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


291 


liquidate his debts, but to give him means of 
support for a few months. 

This was all swept away, leaving him upon 
the tempest-tossed ocean, with death staring 
him in the face. For hours he was in mo- 
mentary expectation of being engulfed by 
the remorseless waves, while, like spectres, 
mocking at his wretchedness, came visions 
of home and happiness. 

When rescued he was too much exhausted 
to speak, or in his confusion he might have 
betrayed his true position. His name was 
chosen and his story framed, while others 
thought him sleeping. John West, — this 
was his adopted name. He represented him- 
self as the son of English parents, who had 
died in America ; and this voyage had been 
undertaken for the purpose of visiting rela- 
tives whom he had never seen, and of whom 
his knowledge was very slight. 

This story involved him in such a tissue of 
falsehoods that it required his utmost ingenu- 
ity to give them any appearance of plausibil- 
ity. He gave a minute account of the loss 


292 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


of the vessel in which he had sailed, after 
which, to avoid being questioned, he took 
refuge in silence ; spending as much of his 
time alone as circumstances would allow. 

What he should do, when once on shore, 
became a question of vital interest. 

Through the kindness of his new friends 
lie was supplied with a good suit of clothes 
and a small sum of money. Then, alone in 
a strange land, he was left to reap the con- 
sequences of his sin. Reared in luxury, with 
every want anticipated, he was ill fitted to 
struggle with poverty. 

In his ignorance, he thought it would 
be easy to obtain employment in some mer- 
cantile house ; but, without acquaintance 
or recommendation, this proved impossible. 
Hoarding his money carefully, he walked 
from one large town to another until his 
strength was exhausted. 

Weary and foot-sore he turned from town 
and city, and sought shelter in the humble 
dwelling of an aged couple, who bade him 
welcome, and ministered to his necessities. 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


293 


For a week he rested there, while the £ood 
woman nursed him back to health and 
strength. lie told them the same story of 
parentage and bereavement, although the 
kindness of his host and hostess sometimes 
prompted him to acknowledge the truth. 

He had money to pay for this week’s care, 
but it was refused. " God forbid that I 
should take from such as you,” said the old 
man. " I would sooner give you double.” 

They asked him of his plans for the future. 
"I must find some kind of work,” was his 
reply. 

"I’m only a humble man,” said his host; 
"but I’ve a brother who has been porter in a 
warehouse of the next town for thirty years. 
Mayhaps he can help you to a place if you 
wouldn’t mind hard work and small wa^es. 

O 

I’ll take my staff and go with you to-mor- 
row, if you like.” 

The next morning they went to the town, 
and after many inquiries and a trial of his 
skill in writing, John West was engaged for 
a month to work in the same warehouse 


294 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 

where the brother of his host was porter. 
Applying himself at once to his duties, he 
bade the old man good-by, promising soon 
to visit him and his good wife. 

In this house he remained for two years, 
gradually gaining the confidence of his em- 
ployers, who talked of promoting him to a 
more responsible post. But in an evil hour 
he yielded to temptation, and raised the glass 
to his lips. It was a simple act, not worth a 
thought to his companions, but to him in- 
volving momentous consequences. 

He soon neglected his business, and, at 
length, plunged into every excess his means 
would allow. The old couple, who had be- 
friended him in his hour of need, and still 
had a great interest in his welfare, remon- 
strated. He acknowledged his folly and 
sin, cursed the habits which were dragging 
him down, yet did not abandon them. He 
lost his situation, and suffered from actual 
want, performing the most menial services 
to obtain the means of gratifying his base 
passions. 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


295 


At last, when too much intoxicated to un- 
derstand what he was doing, he shipped on 
board a vessel as common seaman. A sailor 
before the mast, in days when sailors’ rights 
and sailors’ comforts were considered of small 
consequence, he endured every hardship and 
insult a brutal captain could inflict. Notwith- 
standing all he had suffered, and the straits 
to which he had been reduced, he still re- 
tained some marks of better days. His 
tastes, degraded though they were, were yet, 
in many respects, far above those of the 
crew with which he was ascociated. Every 
manifestation of these brought upon him the 
severest ridicule, so that his life was one 
prolonged agony. 

The voyage was nearly over, when, by the 
carelessness of a drunken messmate, some 
part of the cargo was set on fire. He had 
seen the occurrence and warned the sailor ; 
but what drunken man ever heeded a warn- 
ing? 

O 

In spite of the most determined efforts of 
officers and crew, the ship was soon en- 


29 6 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


veloped in flames, and each was obliged to 
look to his own safety. 

Few were saved, — many escaping death in 
one form but to meet it in another. Among 
the saved was John West, and, as he again 
floated out upon the trackless ocean with 
only a frail support, his whole life passed in 
review before him : all he had lost, all he 

had suffered. And for what? An unnatural 
excitement, a momentary gratification, and 
pleasure that paled ere it was enjoyed. 

For these, he had bartered wealth, posi- 
tion, home, and friends. It had been a fear- 
ful transfer to the powers of darkness, that 
young life with all its hopes and ambitions. 

For the first time, this youth, alone in the 
vast solitude, fully realized how terrible had 
been his infatuation, and there, with only the 
blue sky above him, through which a gra- 
cious God looked down, he implored forgive- 
ness. 

No human being near, no sail in sight, he 
sought to resign himself to the death which 
seemed inevitable ; but a powerful Hand still 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


297 


guarded him. He was again rescued, and, as 
the vessel in which he found himself was out- 
ward bound, he shipped for the return voy- 
age, and conducted himself in such a manner 
as to win the respect of all on board. 

When he once more trod the shores of 
England, his first thoughts were of the home 
where he had before received such kindness. 
He reached there as the sun was going down, 
while the old man read from his Bible the 
story of the prodigal son. Standing outside, 
John West listened breathlessly to each word 
of the simple narrative. A prayer followed, 
in which his own name was mentioned. 

At its close he entered, and the best the 
house afforded was soon placed before him. 
The welcome he received, sincere, though 
grave, assured him that these humble people 
were still his friends, and he resolved to un- 
deceive them in regard to his history. 

It was not strange that at first they doubted 
the truth of what he was saying, as he told of an 
elegant home and doting parents, from whom 
he had voluntarily exiled himself. This good 


298 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


old man, who drank his mug of home-brewed 
beer with thankfulness, and thought himself 
feasting when dining from a plain joint, 
knew little of the extravagances and dissipa- 
tions of the world. 

"X would not doubt your word, he said, 
"though it seems a strange story. Your 
parents must have grieved for you sadly. 
You should arise and go to them.” 

" I must earn money before I do that,” was 
the reply. " X cannot go home as a sailoi. 

No entreaty could prevail upon him to re- 
main beneath this roof for more than a night. 
He had a purpose to accomplish, a life to re- 
deem. Easily obtaining from these friends a 
promise to keep his secret, he left them for 
the next town where he had formerly been 
employed. 

Fortune favored him. There was a press 
of business, and two clerks were absent on 
account of sickness. Ivnowing his capabili- 
ties, his services were gladly accepted, and 
he was once more in a respectable position. 
Here, he devoted himself with the strictest 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


299 


fidelity to his duties, giving evidence of rare 
business talents. His old companions sought 
him in vain, and, seeing his changed appear- 
ance, soon relinquished all claims to his 
acquaintance. 

Conscious of rectitude, and looking for- 
ward to the time when he should resume his 
rightful name, he was strong to resist all 
temptation. 

In the midst of this prosperity, he aston- 
ished his employers by giving them notice of 
his intention to leave at the end of a year. 
Unwilling to lose services which were really 
so valuable, they asked the reason ; but none 
was given except that he wished to visit 
America. 

There were few ties to sunder in this land 
which had proved so secure a hiding-place. 
Only farewells to be exchanged with the old 
people, and ordinary civilities with others, 
and John West (for by that name he still 
wished to be known) sailed for home. 

During the voyage he mingled but little 
with his fellow-passengers, and carefully 


300 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


avoided every conversation which might be- 
come personal. Going back to his father’s 
house, he was not certain how he should be 
received. Different plans for announcing 
himself were considered, but no definite 
course of action was decided upon. 

Wishing to see something of the city he 
had left five years before, and sure of not 
beiim recognized, he started to walk to the 
hotel. On his way he met Thomas Haw- 
thorne, when he involuntarily stopped. Re- 
covering himself upon the instant, he passed 
on, but the sparkle of his eye had betrayed 
him. 

Scarcely had John West reached the room 
which had been assigned him, when a servant 
rapped, to say that a man wished to see 
him. 

"Show him up,” was the reply. 

" Master Robert ! Thomas ! ” Such was 
the greeting, as with closely clasped hands 
the two £azed at each other. 

O 

" My father ? ” at length the younger found 
voice to say. 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


301 


" He is living, but much broken. He will 
rejoice to see you.” 

Questions were asked and answered until 
the sad truth was told. Mother and sisters 
gone. This was a severe blow. Ho had 
counted on their intercession with his father, 
and the thought of again seeing them had 
buoyed him up in many a dark hour. 

He had always placed confidence in 
Thomas, and now, as briefly as possible, he 
recounted to him the leading events of his 
life during the preceding five years. " It 
was hard to come back and face the dis- 
grace,” he said; "but it was harder yet to 
remain.” 

"There isn't much to face,” replied his 
companion. "The Daltons were never given 
to parading their troubles. You have only to 
keep your own counsel and walk straight for- 
ward.” 

Several times the gardener rose to go, and 
was persuaded to be again seated. His wife 
waited long for him that night, and when she 
heard the cause of his detention, she was in a 


302 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


tumult. What immediately followed, I have 
described. 

Settled at home, occupying the same room 
which had been his when a boy, Robert 
Dalton took up the broken threads of his life. 
About a month after his return, he, with his 
cousin, made a round of calls upon their rel- 
atives. Everywhere cordially received, he 
parried, with easy grace, all troublesome 
questions, and quieted all misgivings in re- 
gard to his present character. 

To his father he was dearer than ever be- 
fore, and nothing could exceed the tender- 
ness with which- he ministered to his wants. 
Rhoda even thought that her presence could 
be dispensed with, and fancied that she might 
now seem a burden. 

Venturing to express this to her uncle, she 
received a decided assurance to the con- 
trary ; and, soon after, her Cousin Robert 
took occasion to speak with her upon the 
subject. 

" Father will hardly rejoice if my coming 
is the cause of your leaving,” he said. "I 


303 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 

shall be very sorry if I make your home less 
pleasant.” 

" You do not,” answered Rhoda ; " but I 
came here because your father was alone. 
Now, that you are here, I am no longer 
needed.” 

”1 think he had hoped that, by this time, 
he was necessary to you. You have no 
nearer relative, and there can be no place 
where you would be more welcome.” 

" I love my uncle very much,” was the re- 
ply ; " but I am not used to dependence. I 
was not brought up in luxury.” 

" The more reason why you should enjoy 
and appreciate it now. So please never 
again talk of leaving because I have re- 
turned.” 

Rhoda was silenced, and the failing health 
of her uncle soon made her presence abso- 
lutely necessary. There was no immediate 
cause for alarm, only a gradual sinking of ail 
the powers. 

James Burton came every day, and, in ad- 
dition to the daily paper, read from the Bi- 


304 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


ble. Mr. Dalton was thinking of the world 
he was so soon to enter, and, from the Book 
of books, sought knowledge. 

He had ever paid an outward respect to 
the forms of religion ; but his heart had been 
engrossed with business and pleasure. Now 
that these must be given up he saw of how 
little worth they were when compared with 
the great interests which can be fully esti- 
mated only in eternity. 


VII. 


“ Alone, on the trackless waters, 
Where never a sound was heard, 
Save the roar of mighty billows, 

Or scream of the wild sea-bird, 
With only God for a witness, 

A pledge in silence was made, 
Which rescued a soul from darkness, 
And gave new life to the dead.” 


Visiting the store frequently Kobert Dal- 
ton made himself acquainted with the busi- 
ness, before he attempted any participation. 

It w T as evident that Mr. Trull regarded 
him with distrust ; but the young man paid 
no heed to this. It was what he had ex- 
pected as part of the punishment of his 
wrong-doing. 

o o 

He had sinned much and suffered much, 
yet he had also learned much, and he soon 
saw where the knowledge he had acquired 
might be turned to practical account. With 

20 30.3 


306 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


plain statements and well-digested plans of 
action, he met and set aside the opposition 
of the junior partner. 

"I am sure your father would never ap- 
prove of this venture,” said Mr. Trull, when 
one which seemed to involve great risks was 
proposed. "I cannot give my consent to 
it.” 

A neighboring merchant, coming in soon 
after, and speaking of business, said, " It was 
well Robert Dalton returned just in time to 
take his father’s place. Xo one knows how 
he spent his time while away, but he must 
have served a good apprenticeship to the 
mercantile business somewhere. I thought 
there was some trouble when he left home, 
and I remember of hearing that the vessel 
was wrecked in which he sailed. Strange he * 
should have allowed his family to consider 
him dead for so long a time ; but there’s no 
accounting for the freaks of a young man 
when he gets a little on the wrong track.” 

Mr. Trull was not inclined to reply to 
these remarks. He knew the cause of young 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


307 


Dalton’s leaving home, but of what followed 
he was as ignorant as his visitor. 

"He seems to have improved very much,” 
was said, evasively. 

"You may well say that; I overheard two 
or three of his old associates discussing him 

O 

quite freely. One said, 'he was sober enough 
to be fifty years old.’ 'Sowed all his wild 
oats, and not caring to harvest the crop,’ said 
a second. Would you believe it?” added 
the merchant, — " he refused to drink so 
much as a glass of champagne with them. 
That is drawing the line pretty straight; but 
it keeps a clear head for business.” 

"It would be well if our young men gen- 
erally would follow his example,” said Mr. 
Trull. "There’s no danger on that side. 
When I was a clerk I couldn’t afford tickets 
for the theatre and late suppers every night ; 
and I don’t understand now where the money 
comes from.” 

" There wasn’t so much gambling then as 
there is now ; and speaking of gambling re- 
minds me of something else I heard said of 


308 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


Robert Dalton. He. has said decidedly, that 
he will never take another hand at any game 
of cards. 5 ’ 

Had the merchant come in for the express 
purpose of placing this young man's charac- 
ter in the most favorable light, he could not 
have done it more effectually. Mr. Trull, 
cautious business man though he was, in- 
dulged in both wine and cards ; yet the ab- 
stinence of Robert Dalton was a strong argu- 
ment in his favor. 

When left alone, he gave the proposal of 
his associate more consideration. His preju- 
dice had, before, greatly influenced his judg- 
ment, prompting him to hasty condemnation. 
Looking at the matter calmly, the project did 
not seem so hazardous, and, when Robert 
Dalton came in, he was half inclined to with- 
draw his refusal at once. 

" I have been thinking over the matter you 
proposed this morning,” he said. " Are you 
sure you could carry it through successfully ? ” 

" As sure as one can be of anything not 
yet accomplished." 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


30 ( J 


The confident tone in which this was said 
swept away the last vestige of opposition, 
and Mr. Trull gave his cheerful consent. 
The event proved his wisdom, — the profits 
of the venture exceeding the most sanguine 
expectations. 

Robert Dalton was, indeed, sober enough 
to be fifty years old. The buoyant, careless 
manner of youth had given place to the 
thoughtful, earnest demeanor of mature life. 
Beside Rhoda Smith, who was his senior by 
ten years, he looked the elder of the two. 

The experience through which he had 
passed made him more considerate in his in- 
tercourse with others, and his cousin thor- 
oughly enjoyed his society. She gained 
much in her knowledge of the world, as he 
described the different countries and scenes 
he had visited. 

Pie was also benefited in a different man- 
ner ; and if anything was necessary to insure 
kindness and sympathy to one, who had in 
her childhood received so little, the history 
of her life supplied it. 


310 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


Ilis father told him of the will made while 
in the country the summer before. This was, 
of course, destroyed ; but another, executed 
soon after his return, made generous provis- 
ion for Rhoda Smith. The son was as 
anxious as the father that this should be 
done, considering it only an act ot justice. 

There were some old people in England to 
whom he was under obligations, and to them 
he remitted a sum of money sufficient to give 
them the reputation, among their humble 

neighbors, of being rich. 

Summer came to country and city. L nder 
the genial influences of the season Hi . Dal- 
ton a^ain rallied. His mind, now tranquil 
and happy, had a powerful influence o\ ei his 
body. His son and niece met every want of 
his heart, so far as this world was concerned, 
and beyond, there was an enduring portion, 
to which faith in Christ had given him a title. 

James Burton was not the only person who 
now read the Bible in his presence. Homing 
and evening it was heard, followed by words 
of prayer and praise. 


OUT OF THE FIKE. 


311 


At the approach of warm weather, a bed 
for the invalid had been placed in a room 
adjoining the library, and this was a great 
addition to his comfort. Some days, he was 
able, with assistance, to move about a little, 
and a strong arm was always ready for his 
support. 

" It would be pleasant to be in the country 
for a few weeks,'’ he said, one day, to Rhoda. 
" I know you are longing to go, and it seems 
wrong to keep you here ; but I cannot spare 
you. If I could only go with you ! ” 

"Go where, father?” asked Robert, who 
heard only the last remark. 

" To my native town, and Rhoda’s old 
home,” was the reply. 

" How far is it ? — That is not a long jour- 
ney,” he said, when the distance was told. 

"Not long for you,” replied his father; 
" but, for a feeble old man like me, it is not 
to be thought of.” 

Two weeks after this all was confusion in 
the home of Mr. Gray. Guests were ex- 
pected. Mr. Dalton with his son and Aunt 


312 


OUT OF THE FIFE. 


Elio cl a were coming. This was said asrain 
and again by the younger members of the 
family, as they flitted from room to room, « 
everywhere busy in aiding the preparations. 
Elsie had commenced as soon as the letter 
was received, asking if accommodations could 
be found for so many. 

House and barn were spacious, and never 
so full but there was room for more, so an 
affirmative answer was despatched at once. 

This journey was a great surprise to the 
invalid, who did not consider it possible until 
told by his son that every arrangement had 
been made. "We will start the first morn- 
ing you are able to ride,” he said. 

"I have not yet been in a carriage,” replied 
the father. " I am afraid it must be given 
up.” 

"Not without a trial,” answered Eobert. 
"Dr. Payne says it cannot injure you. 
Ehoda and I are going to take care of you.” 

Some questions were asked, and when the 
old man knew what provisions had been made 
for his comfort, he was quite delighted with 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


313 


the prospect, and desired to start the next 
morning. 

Nature smiled upon them. Mr. Dalton 
was lifted into the carriage by his son and the 
coachman, while Rhoda arranged the cushions 
to suit his pleasure. Then he had only to 
rest, reclining when he so desired, the slow, 
easy motion of the carriage lulling him to 
sleep. Robert made the journey on horse- 
back, riding so near to his father as to be 
always within call. 

Besides stopping whenever it v T as necessary 
to refresh the horses, they often paused in the 
shade of a forest, or where a fine landscape 
attracted attention. 

Some might have found this mode of trav- 
elling tedious ; but not so our party, Robert 
Dalton enjoyed it keenly. Rhoda, in antici- 
pation of again seeing her old friends, would 
have thought any means of reaching them 
pleasant. Mr. Dalton said he gained strength 
with every mile passed over, while the coach- 
man, who was country born, pronounced it 
' f natural.” 


314 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


Mrs. Hawthorne had contributed something 
to the pleasure of this trip ; and her name 
was spoken with praises, when the hamper, 
whose packing she had herself superintended, 
was opened. There was everything to tempt 
the appetite of a traveller, which could be 
crowded into so small a space. "'Blessings 
on her,’’ said Robert, as he dismembered a 
chicken, and the next moment tested the 
merits of pickled oysters. " This is better 
than hotel fare, any time.” 

By short and easy stages the whole dis- 
tance was accomplished, and the party 
reached Mr. Gray’s. It would be useless 
to attempt a repetition of all the exclama- 
tions of pleasure and welcome bestowed upon 
Mr. Dalton and Aunt Rhoda ; although the 
helpless condition of the former somewhat 
saddened the spirits of the children. 

"Much better than when I left home,” was 
his reply to Mr. Gray, who asked in regard 
to his health. " I never expect to walk again 
without assistance ; but my want of strength 
is supplied by that of my son.” 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


315 


Robert Dalton soon found means of in^ra- 

o 

tiating himself into general favor, while with 
Amos he was likely to prove a formidable 
rival to his cousin. 

The pleasantest room in the house, open- 
ing from the lower hall, had been made ready 
for Mr. Dalton. In it there was a large, old- 
fashioned chair, with castors, and another 
with rockers, the cushions of which had been 
beaten by Elsie until each particular feather 
must have stood on end. The best help that 
could be found had been secured ; but Mrs. 
Gray was looking a little anxious. 

" Just leave everything to me, while I am 
here,” said Rhoda. "I have not forgotten 
how to work, and it will be a real pleasure to 
take charge of the kitchen. I suppose you 
can trust me,” she added, smiling. 

"I’ve kept all your old dresses, every one 
of them,” exclaimed Elsie. "But I shouldn’t 
think you’d want to work.” 

"We shall see,” was the reply; and they 
did see, when, the next morning, Rhoda 
Smith appeared in the kitchen, clad, not in 


316 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


one of her old dresses, but in the neatest of 
new ones. 

Soon understanding what was to be done, 
she volunteered to cook the breakfast. " You 
can go about the other work. We shall need 
none of your help,” she said to the girl, who 
stood staring in astonishment ; and being 
thus dismissed, Rhoda was left in quiet pos- 
session of the premises. 

When Mattie and Elsie were ready for 
work, they laid the table, making a few im- 
provements on the usual style, as were sug- 
gested. 

Mrs. Gray was denied admittance to the 
room until the breakfast was ready, when the 
doors were thrown open and the bell rung. 
To the astonishment of all, Mr. Dalton ap- 
peared, supported by a crutch and the arm 
of his son. Rhoda was first to exclaim. 

" I did not expect to see you so early,” she 
said. "Elsie and 1 were intending to bring 
your breakfast in about an hour.” 

"You see I did not wait,” answered her 

v 

uncle. "I really feel better this morning, 


OUT OF THE FIFE. 


317 


and I thought a breakfast here was worth 
coming for.” 

"Aunt Ehoda cooked it all, and I know 
it’s just as good as it can be,” whispered 
Elsie. 

The coachman had some difficulty in un- 
derstanding what was proper for him to do, 
but Ehoda, with her usual promptness, set- 
tled it, and all were seated around the table. 

Elsie’s praises were not unmerited, as both 
word and deed testified. 

"It seems just as though you belonged 
here,” was said to Ehoda, that day, by every 
member of the family ; and to each she an- 
swered, with a smile, "I think I do belong 
here.” 

So much was she occupied with her uncle, 
and the work she would do, that not until 
nearly evening was time found for a confi- 
dential talk with Mrs. Gray. 

"Do you know how much you have 
changed?” asked the latter. 

" I know I have changed a great deal ; so 
much that I almost doubt my own identity. 


318 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


The change in my feelings is even greater 
than in my surroundings and appearance.” 

" Your present life of ease suits you botici. 
than the old one,” said Mrs. Gray. One 

can see that in your face.” 

"I am not sure of that,” answered Rhoda. 
”1 never had reason to complain while here. 
The trouble was within, rather than without. 
My rebellious spirit was unwilling to ac- 
cept the discipline sent upon me. I know I 
was unfortunately situated after my mother 
died. I had no one to love me, and my life 
was very lonely ; but I might have boine it 
more patiently if I had believed, as I do 

now, that God knows best. 

« Every one needs to believe that. It is 
the only consolation one can have in sorrow, 
from which no mortal is exempt, Tom 
uncle, too, has learned it,” she added, ques- 
tioningly. 

" Yes,” replied Rhoda; "and he receives 
the lesson with thankfulness. How strange 
are the means God uses to bring us back to 

himself ! ” 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 319 

From this point the conversation drifted 
to the events which had occurred during 
their absence from each other. Iihoda de- 
scribed the return of her cousin, and the 
effect it had upon her uncle, as well as her- 
self. 

What had been the cause of his leaving 
home, and the silence of his father upon the 
subject, Mrs. Gray did not ask. A single 
remark of Rhoda’s gave a clue to what the 
primary cause might have been. 

" Cousin Robert and I agree, perfectly, in 
our ideas of temperance. He says ho has 
sinned enough, and suffered enough, in con- 
sequence of wine-drinking ; so uncle takes 
his wine alone.” 

To a question suggested by this last re- 
mark, she replied, " Uncle says he is too old 
and too much of an invalid to change his 
habits, but he is sure there would be less un- 
happiness in the world if people would ban- 
ish liquors from their homes. They are a 
curse to the rich as well as the poor. Misery 
and wretchedness follow in their train.” 


320 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


" You will never change your mind on that 

point,” said Mrs. Gray. 

"Never!” was the emphatic reply. "All 
I have seen and heard during the last yeai 
has confirmed it.” 

When it was time for evening worship, 
Mr. Dalton desired that the family should 
meet in his room. " I wish to enjoy it with 
you,” he said. 

It was a delightful close to a well-spent 
dav ? after which they separated cheei fill 
and happy, acknowledging the tender love 
of Him who had crowned their lives with 

blessings. 

In the morning Dr. Webb called, and, at 
the request of the invalid, left some medicine 
which he thought might help give tone and 
vigor to his system. Dlioda received some 
very decided compliments from her old fiiend, 
who had always been disposed to overlook 

her faults. 

"You are a handsome woman,” he said. 
"I wish we could keep you here just to look 

at, if nothing else.” 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


321 


" I lived here several years,” replied Rho- 
da, laughing. " I never heard before, that 1 
was handsome. You have made a new dis- 
covery.” 

"I believe I have,” answered the doctor; 
" but I guess there has been some change in 
vou. We are all changing too. Got a new 
minister, and I don’t know but we shall have 
a new doctor.” 

"I have heard of the minister.” 

" You’ll see him too. He does more good 
in his visits to some sick people than I can. 
He prescribes for the mind, and I for the 
body. He was at Mrs. Lunt’s yesterday 
when I went by, so I knew Amy wouldn’t 
need me.” 

"Do tell me of Amy,” was the quick reply. 
"I have asked Mrs. Gray, but she has heard 
nothing directly from her for several weeks.” 
ff She is very comfortable this summer. 
Suffers less than she has for many years, and 
seems much stronger. She is better pro- 
vided for, too, and that is a great benefit. 
She told me that your uncle gave her a large 
21 


322 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


sum of money ; and he couldn’t have be- 
stowed it where it would have done more 
good.’* 

" What do you think of uncle ? ” now asked 
Rhoda, anxious to hear the opinion of one in 
whom she had so long placed confidence. 
" Will he ever be able to walk?” 

" I should think not,” was the candid an- 
swer. " Yet he may live for some time, and 
perhaps be better than he is now. His 
journey and a change of air will do him 
more good than anything else. T our nurs- 
ing too, — I always depended upon that. 
Strange affair about his son, added the doc- 
tor. " He seems to be a smart young man ; 
but he has seen a good deal of the world. 
There are strongly marked lines in his face. 
Good-morning.” 

The old-fashioned gig was driven from the 
door as this salutation was uttered, and Rho- 
da went to her uncle’s room. So you have 
grown handsome,” he said with a smile. I 
made that discovery a long time ago, but you 
care so little for compliments, that I ha\e 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


323 


never said much about it. Where is Rob- 
ert?” he asked soon after. 

" He has gone off on horseback. I heard 
him ask Mr. Gray something about Cross 
Mountain, and he may have gone there.” 

" I wish I could go there once more,” said 
Mr. Dalton. "It would be a great pleasure 
to me.” 

# 

" I intend to go while we are here,” re- 
sponded Rhoda. 

Her uncle looked up in astonishment. 
"You didn’t enjoy going last year,” he said. 
" The water of the old well was to you like 
the waters of Marah.” 

"The bitterness was in my heart. It is 
gone now.” 

" Then you will be happy under any cir- 
cumstances. I think the bitterness has all 
gone from mv heart. Robert’s coming back 
to me was such an unexpected blessing, and 
so much greater than I deserved. He is a 
good son, and he will be a good brother to 
you, when I am gone.” 

Rhoda could never speak calmly of her 


324 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


uncle’s leaving her, and she turned his atten- 
tion from the painful subject by repeating 
what Dr. Webb had said of Amy Hill. 

"You must go and see her,” he said. 

"I certainly wish to,” was the reply. 

" Then there are Mr. Balch’s family, and 
your Cousin Reuben, and I know not how 
many others. You will need, at least, a 
week for them all. I must manage to spare 
you for that time, if I can engage Elsie’s ser- 
vices. How is it, Elsie?” he asked as he 
saw her going through the hall. "Can you 
take care of me for a week ? ” 

"All alone, do you mean?” she asked, 
with wonder in her eyes. 

"Oh, no, indeed,” he replied, laughing. 
" I only wish to know if you can look after 
me a little while this lady goes visiting.” 

"Yes, sir, I shall be very glad to; but 
I hope Aunt Rhoda won’t stay away very 
long. Not if she’s going back with you,” 
she added. 

" I expect she is going back with me,” said 
Mr. Dalton, " and that is why I am willing to 


325 


OUT OF THE FIItE. 

do without her company while here, for a 
few days.” 

Robert returned just before noon, and gave 
his father an account of his ride. He had 
been to Cross Mountain, had drank from the 
old well, and gazed delightedly upon the 
surrounding country. " I think you told me 
that there was some doubt as to the rightful 
owner of that place.” 

"Yes; so Mr. Gray says. It was always 
considered questionable whether Foster could 
honestly claim it on the score of debt ; but no 
one knoivs anything about it. He was father’s 
tenant for many years, and after it came into 
Mira’s possession he remained there until 
Smith spent all the property she had, except 
that, and then they were obliged to find a 
home there themselves. It was a bad busi- 
ness all round, and I ought to have looked 
after it at the time. There was nothing left 
for Rhoda.” 

" There is something for her now,” said 
the son. "She shall never miss her birth- 
right in the future.” 


326 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


The call to dinner interrupted this conver- 
sation, and it was not resumed that day. 
When all had left the table Robert Dalton 
said to the coachman, " The horses must need 
exercise by this time. Harness them up, and 
let them explore the country a little. Cousin 
Rhoda may decide which way to drive. Mrs. 
Gray, I hope you will accept a seat in the 
carriage,” he added, turning to his hostess. 
" There will be room for all who will go, and 
it is a delightful day to be out of doors.” 
Mattie and Elsie each received a particular 
invitation to occupy part of the carriage, and 
were overjoyed at the prospect of " riding in 
a real coach, just such as you read about. 

Mrs. Gray decided that it would be best 
for her to remain at home, so Aunt Rhoda 
and the girls prepared themselves for the 

drive. 

" Which way are we going?” asked Elsie 
so soon as they had started. " I should like 
to £0 through the village.” 

"7 should like to call upon Amy Hill,” 
said Rhoda. " We can go through the woods, 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


327 


and that will be much more pleasant than the 
dust of the village.” 

The coachman received his directions, after 
which Mattie and Elsie had most of the talk- 
ing between themselves, their companion 
being inclined to silence. The horses were 
in good condition, their driver in a mood for 
displaying their speed, and Mrs. Lunt’s cot- 
tage was soon reached. 

So unexpected an arrival brought the good 
woman to the door in a maze of wonder, from 
which she hardly recovered during the call. 
She was delighted at again seeing Ehoda, but 
troubled to know exactly how she should be 
treated. Amy had no such anxiety. She 
gave her friend the welcome her loving heart 
prompted ; expressing frankly the pleasure 
she felt in her improved condition. 

This call must necessarily be so short that 
Ehoda was hardly willing to share it with 
her young companions ; but they were so 
much interested in Amy Hill, that they 
wished to see her, if only for a moment. 
She was very glad to see them again, and 


328 


OUT OF THE FIFE. 


told them this in so pleasant a manner that 
they coulcl well afford to be satisfied with 
but few words from her. Mrs. Luut then 
found means of entertaining them in her 
warden, where the flowers and fiuit excited 
their admiration. 

There was a great contrast between the 
two women who conversed together in the 
cottage ; blit it v r as far less than it had been 
a year ago. Rhoda Smith s face would nevei 
lose its expression ot force and strength ; but 
the lines about the mouth had softened, and 
her smile w r as genial and winning. 

Her companion was quick to notice the 
change and divine the cause, while never 
heart beat with more sincere giatitude than 
hers. Each inquired of the othei s piospeii- 
ty, and spoke of her own experience. 

It was not easy for them to separate, leav- 
in & so much unsaid, but the afternoon was 
passing rapidly, and tea was always eaily at 
Mr. Gray’s. Rhoda promised to make a 
Ion 0, visit within a few days, and called the 
girls,” who were "not half ready to go.” 


329 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 

When they reached home Mr. Dalton was 
sitting in his easy-chair, under the shade of a 
tree, waiting for them, as he said. He was 
interested in hearing of Amy Hill and her 
aunt, inquiring if they were provided with 
everything necessary for their comfort. 

Elsie entertained him with an amusing de- 
scription of the people who had stared at 
them from doors and windows. "You must 
have produced quite a sensation, ” he said. 

"Yes, uncle, we did. One man took off 
his hat and bowed to us.” 

"I thought he was bowing to the driver,” 
said Mattie, whose ideas of her own conse- 
quence were somewhat less exalted than those 
of her sister. 

A call to supper was followed by the ap- 
pearance of Robert Dalton, who assisted his 
father to the house. 

The evenings were very quiet and still in 
the old farm-house, giving time to profitable 
thought and social converse. The only bustle 
was in a large, airy room where the foaming 
milk was poured into pans and tubs, pre- 


330 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


paratory to the next day’s manufacture of 
butter and cheese. 

Here Rhoda had, formerly, held undis- 
puted sway ; and she now sometimes in- 
dulged herself in a short visit to the old 
quarters. One evening, in the absence of 
the girl, who usually presided here, she vol- 
unteered to take the entire charge of the milk. 

" This seems like old times,” said Mr. 
Gray, as he emptied his brimming pails. "I 
have often read that 'Blessings brighten as 
they take their flight,’ and I am convinced of 
its truth. I guess e we never really appre- 
ciated you until you had taken your flight. 
I wish there was any prospect that you 
would come back to us. I don’t mean as 
maid-of-all-work,” he hastened to add, much 
to Rhoda’s amusement. "We relied so much 
upon your judgment that we hardly know 
how to keep house without you.” 

' Perhaps I shall come back,” she replied. 
"]S T o place seems so much like home as this. 
But I can make no plans. While uncle lives 
I shall remain with him.” 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


331 


" There will always be a home for you here,” 
said her friend, heartily ; " and I am very glad 
you could visit us this summer.” 

" Uncle feared so many of us would be a 
burden, but we could come in no other way 
"Room enough for all,” was the reply. 
" Our only trouble was in regard to the work. 
I tried to hire another woman, but didn’t suc- 
ceed ; and I told my wife you must be satis- 
fied with what we could do as we are.” 

"I am sure every one is satisfied,” answered 
Rhoda. "Uncle’s health is really improving, 
and he seems very happy.” 

" I think he carries his happiness with him,” 
said Mr. Gray. "But I must not stop here,” 
he added ; " Brindle and Star will think they 
have a long time to wait. Our cows are doing 
finely this summer.” 

" So here you are, Cousin Rhoda,” said a 
cheerful voice soon after Mr. Gray went 
out. 

"Hard at work ! Work becomes you too, 
or you become work, which is the same thing. 
I have seen a good many dairy-rooms and 


332 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


dairy-maids in my life, and I really think this 
sight eclipses all.” 

"Save your compliments for some one who 
can appreciate them. They don't suit me 
very well, and it is hardly worth while to 
come so far to waste your words.” 

"I did not come for that,” replied Robert 
Dalton, for he it was. " I came to see what 
this building might be. I think the vines at- 
tracted me, and, coming in, I only expressed 
what first suggested itself.” 

Cu 

"It io a pleasant room,” said Rhoda; "al- 
ways cool and airy. The best place in town 
for milk.” 

Amos came soon, seeking his friend to tell 
a story, and she was left to her work, which 
she performed as thoroughly as when her liv- 
ing was dependent upon it. 

Each day was crowded with its own duties 
and pleasures. It was no light task to furnish 
well-cooked food for so many, and keep the 
different rooms of the house in attractive 
order. Mrs. Gray was often glad to fall back 
upon Rhoda for a well-arranged programme 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


333 


of the work. Mr. Gray, too, found efficient 
help in Mr. Dalton’s coachman, John Ramsey, 
who enjoyed going into the field, and trying 
his skill in labor to which he had been ac- 
customed when a boy. 

At length the time came for the visit to 
Cousin Reuben’s, and a large trunk was packed 
to be carried there. Elsie, who assisted in 
the packing, said Aunt Rhoda was going to 
give away almost everything she had, before 
she went to the city. " There isn’t a single 
empty corner in the whole trunk,” aLe said 
to Mattie. 

Rhoda did not care to startle her cousins 
with a coach and span, so Judson Gray put 
the trunk into the old family wagon, and 
drove over one pleasant morning. 

" Glad to see you, Cousin Rhody,” said 
Reuben, who was at work, mending a fence 
by the side of the road. " You see I’m trying 
to fix up a little. I didn’t know as you’d get 
over here. Told Samanthy last night I was 
afraid you wouldn’t think t’was worth while 
to visit such poor folks. We’re better off 


334 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


than the last time yon came, though. Saved 
some things out of the tire, and I’m one ot 
them. Samanthy’ll be mighty glad to see 
you.” 

It was useless to wait for Reuben Smith to 
exhaust his stock of short sentences, and they 
drove on, leaving him to his whistling and 
hammering. A new house had been erected 
upon the site of the old one, and three rooms 
were already habitable. A good-sized barn 
was ready to receive the crops of the year, 
and frames for sheds were standing, as yet 
uncovered. 

In a flutter of excitement, Samantha came 
to the door, and in a confused way welcomed 
her visitor. 

" Have you room for this trunk?” asked 
Rhoda, as Judson took it from the wagon. I 
could not come very well without it.” 

"There is plenty of room, such as it is,” 
was the answer. " We’re all in contusion, 
but I’ll make you as comfortable as I can. ’ 

"No danger but I shall be comfortable,” 
said her cousin. "I came, expecting to en- 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


335 


joy every moment of my visit. I have heard 
good news of you.” 

Samantha’s face lighted up at this, and she 
was about to reply, when her husband’s voice 
was heard. 

"Glad you’ve come,Rhody,” he exclaimed. 
"Been wanting to see you, ever since the fire. 
That was the best thing ever happened to 
me. I’ve squared off with Lang, and I shall 
pay some other debts when I take my crops 
off the ground. Guess I shall have good 
luck this year.” 

"You will, if you are willing to work.” 
'’Don’t I look like it?” he asked, in reply. 
" I’m pretty busy these days.” 

Rhoda did not doubt this assertion. He 
looked like a man who worked, and, during 
her visit, she had ample opportunity to wit- 
ness his industry. He had a small job to do, 
about quarter of a mile from the house, that 
he guessed he could get through with before 
dinner, and he enjoined upon his wife the 
necessity of "blowing the horn loud.” 

The horn was sounded, calling him to din- 


336 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


ner, just the right time, but it seemed doubt- 
ful if he would find an opportunity to eat, so 
much was he engaged in talking. Rhoda 
thought he was making up for his silence 
while smoking and dozing through so many 
years. 

'■ How do you get along without your 
pipe?” she asked. 

" Well enough,” was the reply. "Pretty 
hard work, at first, but got used to it. Costs 
too much to use tobacco. Can have all the 
tea and sugar we want now. Always get it 
when Samanthy says. Can’t stop any longer 
now,” he added, as he went out of the house, 
and shouldered his hoe, whistling. 

When the housework was done that after- 
noon, Rhoda opened her trunk, and trans- 
ferred its contents to the shelves and closets 
of the new house. She also gave her cousin 
a sum of money, to be expended for furniture 
when the house should be completed. 

Reuben was told of this when he came in 
at evening, and added his thanks to those of 
his wife. "Very kind in you to do so much 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


337 


for us, Cousin Rhody,” he said. " I know I 
don’t deserve it. Didn’t treat you as I ought 
to when we were at father’s together. Been 
sorry for it a good many times. Hope you 
haint laid up any hardness against me. 
Folks used to call you homely ; but you’re a 
good-looking woman now. I’ll say that for 
you anywhere.” 

Rhoda hastened to assure him that she had 
no hard feelings against him or any one else. 
She was very glad to help him, now he was 
trying to help himself. He told her his plans 
for improving his farm, and reclaiming an old 
pasture which had once been valuable, but 
was now completely overrun with bushes and 
briars. 

" It will take a good deal of hard work to 
do all you propose,” she said. 

" I am able to do it,” was the cheerful re- 
ply, as he took the milk-pails and went out. 

* f He don’t seem to mind anything about 
hard work,” said his wife, when he was be- 
yond the sound of her voice. " I wish he 
would take more time to rest ; but he says he 


90 


338 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


can’t afford it. There aint anybody round 
here works harder than he does.” 

Mr. Balch said the same, and prophesied 
that within a few years Reuben Smith would 
not only pay his debts, but " have something 
beforehand.” This neighbor had, from the 
first, assisted him with counsel, and the more 
substantial aid of money and credit. 

It was he who effected a settlement with 
Lang, on more advantageous terms than had 
seemed possible. The rumseller was cha- 
grined and angry at being compelled to speci- 
fy the charges against his creditor ; but Mr. 
Balch insisted. The result was what he ex- 
pected. The footing up of the chai » eS ^ 
much less than the sum stated. The particu- 
lars of this settlement were soon generally 
known, and every old toper who had ever 
paid a bill to Lang was ready to accuse him 
of dishonesty. 

No one more keenly enjoyed the discom- 
fiture of this unprincipled man than It ho da 
Smith, to whom Aunt Lizzie gave a graphic 
description of Luther’s management. " I 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


339 


don’t suppose it will stop his selling liquor,” 
she said ; " but it will help make him unpop-, 
ular. His customers will look after him a 
little closer. He has done harm enough in 
this town, and, to tell the truth, I think his 
business is the meanest a man can engage in.” 

Her companion endorsed this opinion, say- 
ing, " A man who will sell liquor to another, 
when he knows it will be the means of mak- 
ing him a brute and a begsrar, would commit 
any other crime if there was no law to punish 
him. For my part, I wish selling liquor was 
a state-prison offence.” 

" Some of the worst men in the country 
would then receive their deserts,” said Mr. 
Balch, joining in the conversation. "I was 
very glad to meet Lang in a business way, and 
am not anxious to keep the matter secret. Reu- 
ben Smith has drank liquor enough ; but I pre- 
sume he has paid for a great deal that he never 
saw.” 

This was severe denunciation ; but facts 
sustained it. The old farm on Cross Moun- 
tain was not the only property that had 


340 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


changed hands through the baseness of a rum- 
seller. Amy Hill’s father had once been a 
well-to-do farmer; but his wife, -in her last 
sickness, was dependent upon charity. 

Rhoda spent a long day with Amy before 
she returned to Mr. Gray’s. Mrs. Lunt, 
feeling obliged to devote most of her time to 
the preparation of a dinner and supper worthy 
to place before her guest, came into the room 
only occasionally, and then stopping but a 
moment to ask a question or make some re- 
mark. 

There was no lack of comfort in this home. 
The ground connected with the house had 
again been planted by the kindness of neigh- 
bors, and there was promise for the winter. 

' Aunt Milly considers herself quite a farm- 
er,’ said Amy. ”Last year our crops were 
very fine. TV e had a great abundance of 
apples, and enjoyed the luxury of giving. 
That was a great privilege to us, and I trust 
we were grateful.” 

Mr. Dalton had not allowed his niece to 
visit these friends empty-handed, and, not- 


341 


OUT OF THE FI HE . 

withstanding their remonstrances, she insisted 
upon their receiving the money which had 
been sent by her. 

When ready to leave that evening, she was 
surprised to find quite a large bundle in her 
wagon. ”It is for your cousin,” said Mrs. 
Lunt. " Amy and I have thought a good deal 
about her since the fire ; so we got together 
a few things we could spare as well as not. 
I should have sent them before, only I hoped 
she’d come over herself, and I knew they 
hadn’t much room where they were last win- 
ter.” 

" That beats me,” said Reuben, when he 
saw the bundle and was told who had sent 
it. " Don’t seem right to take it from them 
women ; but never mind, Samanthy, we shall 
have something to give them in return.” 

Mrs. Smith said her husband had never 
enjoyed any visit so much as this with " Cousin 
Rhody,” and when Aunt Lizzie, with her son 
and daughter, came over to take tea with 
them, he really felt that they were beginning 
to live. He began to think himself of some 


342 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


consequence, and that, to a man like him, 
was a great point gained. 

Soon after this visit Mr. Dalton and his 
party started for the city, making the journey 
much more rapidly than before. 

They were expected at home, and great 
preparations had been made for their recep- 
tion, Mrs. Hawthorne quite eclipsing herself. 
All this was very pleasant to Rhoda ; but, 
when the first excitement was over, she be- 
gan to feel lonely and dissatisfied. 

The weeks went by ; Mr. Dalton’s health 
remained much as it had been when in the 
country. James Burton was reinstated in his 
position as reader. 

Many calls were received from relatives 
and friends of the family, and occasionally a 
few were invited to spend the evening at the 
house ; when Rhoda, supported by her cousin, 
acted the part of hostess by no means dis- 
creditably. Her elegant and tasteful dress, 
faultless even when judged by the standard 
of those around her, had much to do with the 
favorable impression she produced. 


OUT OF THE FIKE. 


343 


Through Mrs. Hawthorne she had made 
the acquaintance and engaged the services of 
a young girl who was dependent upon her 
own exertions for the support’ of herself and 
her youngest sister. Some one had taught 
her dress-making, and, having a natural talent 
for fitting and trimming, she became skilful 
in the art. 

But being almost unknown, and having no 
friends except among those who were obliged 
to economize their expenses, work was not so 
remunerative as she had hoped. 

In the summer she had taken rooms in the 
house with Mrs. Burton, and soon attracted 
her attention. James had been the first to 
make their acquaintance by offering to carry 
a pail of water up the stairs for Jennie, the 
younger sister. She looked at him a moment, 
astonished at his kindness, then gave him the 
pail, and led the way to the room she called 
" home.” 

After this, he often assisted her in various 
ways, until, at last, he rapped regularly at 
the door, each day, to ask if he could do any- 


344 


OUT OF THE FIFE. 


thing* for Miss .Dunn. He brought shavings 
for her as he did for his mother, and executed 
commissions of all kinds. Thus James estab- 
lished himself in the good graces of the sis- 
ters, and one evening introduced his mother 
to them. 

A tew days after this, Mrs. Burton spoke 
of them to Mrs. Hawthorne, and asked her 
to call upon them. Alcey Dunn was then at 
work upon the skirt of a rich dress which 
had been sent her from a fashionable shop, 
and was to be completed that day. Tt was 
so elaborately trimmed that it attracted the 
attention of the visitor, who took the liberty 
to ask what she was to receive for the work. 

Alcey named a sum so small in comparison 
with the price usually paid for such work, 
that Mrs. Hawthorne involuntarily uttered an 
expression of surprise. 

" I know that is not what it is worth, but I 
am very glad to do it even at such a price.” 

At once the good English woman thought 
ot a plan to aid her, and, when Rhoda Smith 
returned, she lost no time in telling her of 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


345 


these two you eg girls who were so alone in the 
world. "I’m sure you’d like her work, miss, 
if you’d be pleased to try her. It always goes 
to my heart to see such young creatures toil- 
ing for the bread they eat.” 

The fact that they were orphans was suffi- 
cient to enlist the sympathies of her to whom 
this was addressed. She sent for Alcey 
Dunn to come to the house that she might 
consult her in regard to some dresses she 
proposed to have remade. 

Something in the looks of the young dress- 
maker reminded her of Amy Hill. There 
was the same golden hair, and the same sweet 
smile wreathing the small mouth ; but there 
was a brightness in the face of Alcey Dunn 
which the invalid’s had never known. She 
could remain only long enough to examine 
the dresses, admire the rich laces with which 
they were to be trimmed, and then hasten 
home to complete the work now on hand. 

Ehoda was charmed with her appearance 
and manifest taste, and engaged her services 
for several days. " You can take your sister 


346 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


with you,” she said; "Mrs. Hawthorne will 
find a pleasant place for her.” 

Alcey felt that she had found a friend, 
while Jennie was delighted with the prospect 
of "oin" to so "rand a house. Mrs. Burton 

O O o 

congratulated her young friend, knowing by 
her own experience that she would be gen- 
erously treated. 

As Bhoda had desired, Alcey and her sister 
went together to the house of Mr. Dalton, 
and Mrs. Hawthorne gladly took charge of 
the child, who insisted upon making herself 
useful. "I never sit still and do nothing,” 
she said, in her womanly way. " Sister says 
I must be industrious, and she thought you 
would find me some work for to-day.” 

" W hat can you do?” asked the house- 
keeper, smiling at this earnestness. 

"I can knit, and sew, and do errands; I 
can sweep too, and tidy up the house.” 

"That is doing very well,” was the reply. 
"But I think I'll send you into the garden 
this morning. My husband is the gardener. 
You'll find him under the trees,” she said, 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


347 


pointing down the walk, at the foot of which 
were some large fruit-trees. "Perhaps you 
can help him." 

Mrs. Hawthorne watched the child as she 
went through the garden, saw her standing 
quietly as she talked with Thomas ; and then, 
sure she was in her proper place, went 
about her own work. In about an hour 
Jennie entered the house-keeper's room with 
a basket of pears, which she said she was to 
carry to the lady. " Would you let me take 
them to her myself ? ” she asked. 

"Yes," answered the house-keeper, "and I 
will show you the way." 

Alcey looked up from her work in sur- 
prise at seeing her sister. "Why, Jennie ! " 
she exclaimed. 

"A gentleman in the garden told me I could 
bring these to the lady," she said, apologizing 
for her presence, as she placed the fruit upon 
the table and turned to leave the room. 

Rlioda called her back, and began talking 
with her, asking how she had spent the morn- 
ing. At first, she replied in monosyllables, 


348 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


evidently afraid of being intrusive ; bat she 
forgot this as she became interested. 

"I think I had better go back now, 5 ’ she 
said, after a time. "I was helping in the 
garden.” 

"You must stop and eat some of these 
pears, before you go,” replied her friend. 
"We will all eat them together. Shouldn’t 
you like some?” she asked, seeing the look 
of indecision upon the child’s face. 

"I should like one,” replied Jennie ; " but 
I should like better to carry it to Debby But- 
ters.” 

" And who is Debby Butters? That isn’t 
a very pretty name,” said Rhoda. 

"I know it isn’t, and I guess she isn’t very 
pretty ; but she’s good, and sister says she 
bears her pain with a great deal of fortitude.” 

The listener smiled, but Jennie proceeded : 
"I didn’t tell you who she was, but I will. 
She’s a little girl, who lives in the same house 
we used to, with her grandmother. Her 
father is a sailor, and her mother went ofi 
and left her ; so she has nobody but her 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


349 


grandmother to take care of her. She can’t 
walk much, and never goes out-doors. 
Sometimes Aleev used to give her a penny 
to buy an apple for her, and then she was 
always so glad.” 

Rhoda was interested in the simple story 
of Debby Butters, and made many inquiries 
in regard to her. "We will send some good 
things to Debby this evening, but you can 
eat the pears all the same. There are 
enough for her besides these.” 

" Then I would rather carry one to Debby’s 
grandmother,” urged the child. However, 
she was at last persuaded to share the lus- 
cious pears, and then returned to the garden, 
where Mr. Hawthorne found employment for 
her busy feet and hands. 

Alcey Dunn was allowed to exercise her 
own taste, her employer looking on but to 
admire. She enjoyed the day, scarcely con- 
scious of fatigue when the hours of labor were 
over. 

Rhoda gave her the price she had been ac- 
customed to pay a dress-maker recommended 


350 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


by her aunt. " You must have made a mis- 
take,” said Alcey, when she had counted the 
money. "Here is quite too much; double 
what I have ever received before, and Jennie 
has been with me too.” 

" I have only given you what is your due,” 
was the reply. "I am perfectly satisfied. 
There is no reason why you should not be 
paid as well as others.” 

Jennie found a basket of fruit and cakes, 
ready to be carried to Debby Butters, and 
her sister consented to call upon her that even- 
ing, so there need be no delay in delivering 
the precious gift. Poor Debby had been sul- 
fering more than usual, and was wishing she 
could have something nice to eat, when her 
friends opened the door of her grandmother’s 
room. 

" Sights and sights of goodies ! ” exclaimed 
the child, as the contents of the basket were 
displayed. "I shall feel better now. I’ve 
wanted something all day, and to think you 
should be the one to bring it ! I thank you 
more than I ever thanked anybody before.” 


351 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 

" A kind lady gave them to me for you ; 
so you must thank her,” replied Jennie, dis- 
claiming all merit in the affair. 

"Then I thank her, you tell her,” said 
Debby, too much delighted to wonder how 
the kind lady had heard of her. 

The grandmother, who had been talking 
with Alcey, now came forward, and expressed 
her gratitude. fr The like has never been 
seen in this room, since I lived here,” she 
said. " We’ve been badly off for a few 
days, and Debby has been getting weak. I 
don’t mind for myself, but it’s hard for her.” 

Thus were four new names added to the 
list of those in whose welfare Rhoda Smith 
was interested. She would not forget little 
Debby Butters, or the grandmother who 
cared for her.” 

Alcey became her entire dependence in all 
matters of dress, while Jennie was her prime 
favorite. Her uncle had several times seen 
this child in the garden, and one day asked 
James Burton if he knew who he was. 

Of course James knew who she was, aud 


352 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 

could tell a great deal about her, which he 
did not hesitate to do, particularly as he 
had an interested hearer. 

When Rhoda next came into the room, her 
uncle spoke of the child. "James told me 
that her sister is your dress-maker, : ” he said. 

" Yes, sir, she is, and a friend of mine as 
well.” 

" Spoken like yourself, Rhoda. I am sure 
she has found a friend. I should really like 
to see her. . She must understand her busi- 
ness, judging from the specimens of her work 
that I have seen. You mmht recommend her 

O 

to some of your friends.” 

" I have done so,” was the reply ; " and she 
is quite popular.” 

The elder Mr. Dalton was wishing to see 
Alcey Dunn. The younger Mr. Dalton had 
seen her, and thought her face one of the 
sweetest he had ever looked upon. 

He resolved to become acquainted with 
her, and one day when he was in the garden, 
seeing Jennie, to whom he had before spoken, 
he gave her a bouquet of late flowers, telling 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


353 


her she could keep it herself, or give it to the 
person she loved best in the world. 

Her reply was what he had expected. 
" Then I shall give it to sister, for I love her 
best.” 

This opened the way for quite a long talk, 
during every moment of which the child 
kept her large blue eyes fixed upon the face 
of her companion. She must have thought 
him worthy of confidence, for she gave him 
quite a minute description of her home, and 
the people living in the house. 

If it was chance that brought Robert Dal- 
ton into the hall that evening, just as the 
young dress-maker and her sister were pass- 
ing through, he certainly blessed his stars for 
the lucky chance. Jennie had the bouquet in 
her hand. "I gave the flowers to sister,” she 
said. "I am going to carry them home for 
her, and then she will take them.” 

" I hope she will like them,” he replied, 
opening the hall-door and bowing respect- 
fully as they went out. 

After this, such encounters were frequent, 

23 


354 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


yet their acquaintance had progressed no 
further than an exchange of salutations when 
winter set in. Chance again favored the 
gentleman. Alcey Dunn was going from her 
work, later than usual, when the confusion 
incident to an alarm of tire rendered the 
streets quite unsafe for a lady. 

Fortunately Robert Dalton was passing in 
the same direction, saw her, and begged the 
privilege of accompanying her home. Re- 
joiced at seeing a friend, when one was so 
much needed, she thankfully availed herself 
of liis kindness. 

At the door they met Jennie, who, alarmed 
at the long absence of her sister, was weep- 
ing bitterly. " Mrs. Burton and James were 
gone, so I had to stay all alone,” she said ; 
and at the thought her tears flowed afresh. 

o 

If any excuse could have been found for 
stopping, the gentleman certainly would have 
done so ; but, finding none, he was obliged to 
leave, even before Jennie had dried her tears. 
Yet something had been gained, and upon 
this slight foundation he built an airy castle. 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


355 


Christmas was at hand. Robert Dalton in- 
vested quite largely in books and toys ; and, 
on the morning of this holiday, three chil- 
dren were made happy by the reception of 
presents, beyond anything they had ever ex- 
pected. Jennie Dunn, James Burton, and 
Debby Butters, each found, in addition to a 
well-filled stocking, a large package on the 
pillow. 

The exclamations of delight were as vari- 
ous as the characters and circumstances of 
the recipients. Great was their curiosity to 
know who had thus remembered them. 

"Grandma says a black man, with white 
teeth, brought mine,” said little Debby But- 
ters to Jennie. 

"That’s who brought mine,” answered her 
friend. " Sister asked him who sent the 
things.” 

"What did he say?” asked Debby, inter- 
rupting her. 

" He said, 'Dunno noffin ’bout it,’ and went 
downstairs, laughing.” 

James Burton’s parcel had been brought 


356 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


by some one answering to this description ; 
so they decided that the presents must have 
all been sent by one person, and that person 
must be very rich, especially, as the older 
members of the families had not been over- 
looked in their distribution. Rhoda Smith 
understood the matter, and Alcey had a 
shrewd suspicion of whom Santa Claus might 
be ; but the children were profoundly igno- 
rant. They knew their Christmas dinners 
were sent by " the lady at Mr. Dalton’s/’ and 
pronounced her name with blessings, as they 
ate. 

" There’s a hape o’ cooking done in the 
house,” said an Irish servant who had recent- 
ly come under Mrs. Hawthorne’s jurisdiction. 
" Sure it’s a wonder where it’s all going. 
There’s enough for the like o’ ten families 
like this.” 

The house-keeper attended to the distribu- 
tion of this "hape o’ cooking,” happy in car- 
rying out the wishes of "master’s niece.” 
For the home table she made sumptuous 
preparations, and then grew radiant, as the 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


357 


praise bestowed upon the viands by the in- 
vited guests was repeated by the servants. 

Mr. Dalton was able to sit at the table 
with his guests, and enjoy the feast, seeming 
to lay aside the air of an invalid. 

" We shall expect you to dine with us on 
New Years day,” said his sister Laura to 
him, when she left that evening. "We shall 
hope to see more of you now that brother 
William seems so well,” she added to Rlioda. 
" You will not need to confine yourself at 
home so closely." 

Invitations to Mrs. Fulton’s were received, 
but Mr. Dalton excused himself from being 
present. He was not so well as usual. "It 
is nothing serious,” he said, "but I shall be 
more comfortable here at home. Grand din- 
ners are not so much to my taste as they were 
once." 

" They will never be much to my taste," 
said Rhoda. " I should prefer to stay with 
you. We might have a very pleasant even- 
ing in your room.” 

" I know we might,” replied her uncle ; 


358 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


" but it is best for you to go. You must see 
more of society this winter than you did the 
last. I am beginning to think a little about 
having my children settled in life,” he added, 
with a smile. 

ff Don’t make any plans for me,” said 
Rhoda, laughing. "They will certainly 
hill through if you do, and leave you dis- 
comfited.” 

"I am not anxious to have you leave me,” 
replied her uncle. " You need fear no con- 
spiracy on my part. I only thought there 
might be some danger of such an event.” 

Rhoda blushed as this was said, and he 
wondered if his suspicions were correct. If 
he had heard the unqualified and almost rude 
refusal of the hand of one of his friends, only 
the evening before, he would not have misin- 
terpreted her blushes. As it was, he looked 
serious, and desired her to dress with un- 
usual care, as her Aunt Laura was very fas- 
tidious. 

One week, one little week, and it mattered 
not to him of society or settlement in this 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


359 


world. He was dead. The blow came sud- 
denly, at last. James Burton was alone with 
him, reading from the Bible, when he ob- 
served a strange expression upon his face. 
His lips moved, but they uttered no sound. 

Instantly the boy summoned assistance. 
Rhoda, who was first to hear the call, bent 
over her uncle in an agony of fear. She 
clasped his hands entreating him to speak ; 
but his voice was hushed. 

Dr. Payne was called, a messenger de- 
spatched for Robert, and the whole house 
was laid under tribute for his relief. But it 
availed nothing. The death-angel had placed 
its seal upon lip and brow. 

- There was an imposing funeral, and then 
William Dalton was laid to rest by the side 
of wife and children. 


VIII. 


“ Out of the fires of shame and sin 
God is able to garner in 
A glorious harvest of souls.” 

The will of her uncle had placed Rhoda 
Smith in an entirely independent position, 
giving her a home where she then was, so 
long as she should remain unmarried. Rob- 
ert, too, had been generous in carrying out 
the wishes of his father, and this, together 
with their common sorrow, had made their 
relationship seem like that of brother and 
sister. 

He could speak to her of his past life, of 
the temptations which had beset his path, 
and to which he had so weakly yielded. 
"We have both come out of the tire, Cousin 
Rhoda, and therefore should be able to sym- 
pathize with each other,” he said one even- 

360 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


361 


ing when they were seated together in the 
library. 

" I can never forget my sensations when I 
saw the flames leap from mast to rigging, 
and knew there was no possibility of saving 
the ship. In that one instant every sin I 
had committed seemed to rise before ine.” 

" I can never think of you as being other 
than you are now, honorable and upri ght,” 
said his cousin. 

"Would God I had never been otherwise,’' 
he responded, earnestly. "If you knew all, 
I fear you would never trust me, and I some- 
times wonder how 1 can trust myself.” 
v " I should not think of distrusting you, 
Cousin Robert. One who acknowledges his 
own weakness, and seeks strength from God 
is sure to receive it." 

"I have learned that by experience," was 
the reply. " Strange I was so easily led 
astray," he added, musingly. "I did not 
care much for drink, at first, and I had no 
particular taste for gambling. The influence 
of one man made me the wretch I was. I 


362 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


have met that man on the street to-day, and 
he had the audacity to address me.” 

" I hope you did not speak to him,” said 
his companion. 

ff I certainly did not.” 

%/ 

"Then you are fairly rid of him.” 

I am not so sure of that. He is a villain 
of the deepest dye, and will not mind a re- 
buff when he has a purpose to accomplish.” 

^ hat purpose can he have ? ” innocently 
asked Rhoda. 

He probably intends to make money out 
of me in some way. If he cannot induce me 
to gamble, he may try some other plan of 
lining his pockets at my expense. This man 
knows more of my career of dissipation be- 
fore leaving home than any one else. It 
would not be pleasant to have this reported 
to the public, — a fact that he will understand 
as well as I. He may hope to receive a 
bribe for keeping silent.” 

" And will you bribe him ?” asked Rhoda. 

" What would you do?” he asked in reply, 
an amused smile playing around his mouth. 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


363 


" Tell him to say what he pleases. He can- 
not injure you without compromising him- 
self. ” 

" He will be careful not to do that among 
respectable people, and with his own set he 
has nothing to lose. There are many ways 

s 

in which he could start a report and yet con- 
ceal his own agency in the matter. However, 
I have not the slightest idea of keeping him 
in funds, let the consequence be what it may.” 

" Is his home here ? ” asked Rhoda. 

"Here as much as anywhere,” was the re- 
ply. "He spends his time wherever he can 
find victims. If you should attend the theatre, 
you would see him there, dressed in the 
height of fashion, and having the appearance 
of a gentleman. When I became acquainted 
with him he was admitted to good society, 
and was quite a favorite with most of the 
ladies.” 

" How could any decent person tolerate 
such a man?” 

"His true character was unknown, except 
to those whose ruin he had accomplished, and 


364 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


they were rot likely to betray him. He was 
a specious villain.” 

"Will he be received into society now?” 

" It would not be strange if he should. He 
is a handsome man, with a most pleasing ad- 
dress.” 

" Is he voune:?” 

%j O 

He cannot be, although he professed to 
be less than thirty when I first knew him. I 
presume he is fifty years of age, and, from my 
hasty glance at him to-day, I judge the last 
five years have told upon his looks. I must 
speak to Thomas about him. He is a shrewd 
counsellor, and I may need his assistance.” 

Thomas did not need to be informed of the 
gambler s presence in the city. He had seen 
Paul Romare (for by this romantic name was 
the scoundrel known), and, notwithstanding 
his confidence in "young master,” he was 
really anxious. He had watched his move- 
ments before, and knew how persistent! y he 
followed up any one whom he had marked as 
" game.” 

"I was coming to tell you this same, he 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


365 


said, when Robert Dalton had told him of his 
meeting with Romare. " He’s back for no 
good, you may count sure on that; I saw 
him with some young men this afternoon. If 
their fathers understood him as well as I do, 
he’d soon leave town. You’ll meet him again 
to-morrow.” 

True prophecy ; and well timed was the 
meetiug for evil purpose. Robert Dalton was 
talking with a friend of his father, when Ro- 
mare passed. 

" Be sure to remember your engagement 
for this evening,” he said, with a careless bow, 
as though addressing one with whom he was 
on intimate terms. 

" Is he an associate of yours ? ” asked the 
old gentleman of his companion. 

r Yo, sir,” replied young Dalton, yet so 
much astonished was he at the audacity of the 
gambler that he made no explanation of the 
strange occurrence. 

" I am glad of it, for I have heard some 

O 7 

things not much to his credit.” 

O 

Here the conversation was interrupted, 


366 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


and in no enviable frame of mind the young 
merchant returned to the store. An hour af- 
ter, he received a note, inviting him to a sup- 
per that evening, at the most fashionable 
hotel in the city. 

♦ 

" Only a few congenial spirits, mutual 
friends in days gone by. 

"Your obd’t serv’t, 

" Paul Romare." 

This was carrying matters with a high 
hand, and required more than a passing 
thought. He folded the note and placed it in 
his pocket for further consideration. 

In the course of the afternoon two or three 
% 

young men of his acquaintance asked him if 
he was to be at Romare’s supper that evening, 
and expressed much surprise at his reply. 

"He has told that you are coming," said 
one. "He seemed to count on you as sure." 

" He knows better than that," exclaimed 
Robert Dalton, in an excited tone. "That 
man has caused me trouble enough. More- 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


367 


over, I never attend such suppers. You 
know that as well as I.” 

" I thought I knew it, but he seemed better 
informed on the subject than I could pre- 
sume to be.” 

" He once had good opportunity for know- 
ing my habits, but it is now six years since I 
have spoken with him. I have changed in 
that time.” 

" He told me that he saw you yesterday.” 

" That is true ; and he has seen me to-day, 
but I have not spoken with him.” 

The listener looked to him for an explana- 
tion. " When we parted, more than six years 
ago, I paid him five thousand dollars, which 
he had won from me at the gaming-table 
w T hen I was too much under the influence of 
wine to understand what I was doing.” 

This revelation was received with a look 
of profound astonishment. " I am making 
this confession for your benefit,” added the 
speaker. "You are doubtless stronger than 
I was, but it is safer to have no intercourse 
with such a man. If you sit with him at 


368 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


supper this evening, you will be expected, 
sooner or later, to pay for your own enter- 
tainment.” 

" Do you know what Romare’s business is ? ” 
abruptly asked his companion. 

" Gambling,” was the laconic reply. 

" I know he gambles; but you would 
hardly call that business. It costs somethin gf 

o 

to live and dress in the style he does.” 

"His victims pay the bills.” 

Robert Dalton was proverbially reticent in 
regard to what concerned his own personal 
interests ; but in this instance he felt con- 
strained to speak frankly. 

Before evening nearly every young man 
who had received an invitation to Romare’s 
supper had heard a report of this conversa- 
tion ; and, as a consequence, those whose pres- 
ence was most desired sent notes of apology. 

The host was too much a man of the world 
to betray his mortification ; but the supper, 
which had been gotten up regardless of ex- 
pense, was a failure, so far as its original de- 
sign was considered. 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


369 


Robert Dalton was closeted with his gar- 
dener that evening, and if Paul Romare had 
heard their consultation, he would at once 
have relinquished all hope of again bringing 
the young man under his power. 

The gentleman who had heard his remark 
in the morning was sufficiently curious to ask 
its meaning. He soon heard a detailed ac- 
count of the affiiir, and the young merchant 
occupied a higher place in his esteem than 
before. 

Romare kept himself somewhat secluded, 
and at the end of a month Thomas reported 
that he had left the city. 

Soon after this, Robert Dalton received a 
letter from him, threatening an expose of his 
youthful career of vice, unless a certain sum 
of money should be remitted within a speci- 
fied time. 

The letter was shown to Mr. Trull, who 
read it, asked a few questions, and then said, 
" I should advise you to take no notice what- 
ever of this.” 

" I do not intend to notice it,” answered his 

24 


370 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


partner, " and I presume Romare will carry 
his threat into execution. I preferred you 
should hear it from me rather than a third 
person.” 

"I am very glad you told me. I have so 
much confidence in you at present, that I 
should pay little attention to reports of the 
past, but I shall now be able to speak more 
confidently to others, should an explanation 
be necessary.” 

This missive failing to elicit any response, 
another was soon sent to the young merchant, 
threatening disclosures which would consign 
him to the State prison, unless money should 

be forthcoming. 

Romare was getting desperate. His usual 
luck had failed him, and he was ready to en- 
gage in any scheme which offered the slightest 
prospect of raising funds. He counted on 
the extreme pride of the man with whom he 
was dealing, and fancied that, while refusing 
to acknowledge him as an acquaintance, he had 
reason to think that he might yet fear him as 
an enemy. 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


371 


Still no reply. Revenge prompted the re- 
taliation which policy had threatened. 

There were strange rumors afloat in regard 
to Robert Dalton. His mysterious absence 
was explained. Crimes of which he had 
never been guilty were attributed to him, 
and there were vague hints of a terrible life 
beyond the sea. 

No one could trace this scandal to its 
author; but it was generally discussed, and 
at length reached the ears of Mr. Trull. 

" That is one of Romare’s stories,” he said 
to a brother merchant, who, with a great 
show of disinterested friendship, had reported 
to him the gossip. "I can tell you all about 
it.” 

"So that is it,” said the man, after listen- 
ing to his companion’s version of the matter. 
"I am glad to be set right, and will take care 
to extend the information.” 

There was some truth in the reports, as 
every one knew ; enough to give them an ap- 
pearance of plausibility, and annoy him at 
whose expense they were told. They might 


372 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


affect his business reputation ; but this was of 
small consideration to him in comparison 
with their possible influence upon one whose 
good opinion was of more value than all his 
wealth. 

His admiration for Alcey Dunn had in- 
creased until it was the ruling passion of his 
life : yet he shrank from expressing this ad- 
miration in words. She seemed so infinitely 
removed from him by her purity and inno- 
cence that her presence was like an accusing 
angel. Never had his guilt appeared so 
great, and never had he so loathed his career 
of vice, as since he had made the acquaintance 
of the orphan sisters. 

Alcey Dunn had achieved a great success 
in her employment, and was considering the 
wisdom of taking better apartments in a more 
desirable locality. Jennie was ambitious to 
aid her sister, and looked forward impa- 
tiently to the time, when she, too, could 
" make beautiful dresses.” 

Robert Dalton often wondered if this youug 
girl could be induced to exchange her life of 


OUT OF THE FIFE. 


373 


toil for a home with him, where every want 
should be anticipated, and as often was he 
humiliated by a sense of her superiority. 

He knew he was not worthy of her. Sen- 
sibilities once blunted by contact with vice 
never regain their original tone. Sin brings 
its own punishment. One may be stronger 
for sin repented and forsworn, but never 
purer . 

These consideration deterred him from mak- 
ing any formal declaration of his regard ; al- 
though she could not be insensible to his gen- 
tlemanly attentions. With Jennie he w T as 
on the best of terms, and through her was 
able to bestow many favors upon which he 
would not otherwise have presumed. There 
were always fruit and flowers in their home. 

From the first, Rhoda Smith had treated 
Alcey as a friend, rather than a servant, and, 
after her uncle’s decease, had seated her at 
the same table with her cousin and herself. 
There may have been no design in this, but 
it certainly afforded an excellent opportunity 
for the exchange of civilities. 

O 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


374 

Rhoda was not likely to be questioned in 
regard to her cousin, but, soon after Roma re's 
stories were put in circulation, Mrs. Fulton 
called upon her, and insisted on going into 
the work-room, as she wished to consult 
Miss Dunn in regard to some trimming. 
While there, she mentioned the reports, and 
expressed great regret that such terrible 
things should be said. 

The llushed face of her dress-maker at- 
tracted and riveted Rhoda’s attention. Mrs. 
Fulton, observing her, said "You need not 
mind Mi ss Dunn. She has heard this talked 
of wherever she has been for the last fort- 
night. Moreover, she is too discreet to re- 
peat what she hears. Of course none of 
Robert’s friends will believe anything to his 
disadvantage." 

O 

Rhoda had not been mistaken in thinking 
Alcey Dunn unusually reserved in the pres- 
ence of her cousin, and this reserve was now 
accounted for. Those terrible stories, partly 
true, and partly false, had done their work. 

Robert Dalton saw this, felt it keenly, and 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


375 


resolved upon an explanation. That evening 
he proposed walking home with the young 
lady. She objected, on the plea that she 
must make a call on the way. 

"Then I can wait for you,” was his reply ; 
" I have something to say to you, which must 
be said this evening. ” 

Alcey Dunn made no more objections. 
She accepted his proffered arm, and walked 
on in silence. She must have forgotten the 
call to be made, for nothing was said in re- 
gard to it. Her companion made two or 
three ineffectual attempts to engage her in 
conversation, but his own thoughts were pre- 
occupied. 

When they reached her room, she threw 
open the door, and invited him to enter. 
Jennie sprang to meet him, and commenced 
an animated description of a new book she 
had borrowed from James Burton. " He told 
me you gave it to him,” she said. "So he 
thought you intended I should read it too.” 
For some reason Mr. Dalton was not so 
social as usual with his young friend, and she 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


37(3 

soon asked if she could go into Mrs. Burton’s 
room. Permission was granted, and then 
came an opportunity for the desired explana- 
tion. 

I think neither could afterwards have told 
how this was commenced ; and it does not 
matter. It is sufficient to know that it was 
commenced in such a manner as to fix the at- 
tention of the listener, and ensure her sym- 
pathy. He acknowledged that he had been 
fearfully reckless, but spared her the details of 
his dissipation. He told her of the influence 
of Romare, and the forgery committed to 
meet his demands. The letters recently re- 
ceived from him were shown. 

While reading these Jennie returned, and 
Alcey, who never neglected her sister, asked 
to be excused for a short time. Then there 
was a low murmur of voices in an adjoining 
room, which imagination easily associated 
with words of prayer. 

When Alcey came back she found her vis- 
itor sitting with shaded eyes, and his whole 
manner indicating suppressed emotion. "I 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


377 


fear I have wearied you by this long confes- 
sion,” he said, looking at her earnestly, as he 
brushed away a tear. " Perhaps I ought not 
to have inflicted it upon you, but I could not 
endure to be misunderstood by one for 
whom I have so sincere a regard.” 

" I am very glad you have told me,” she 
replied, frankly, while the telltale blush as- 
sured him that his regard was not wholly un- 
returned. 

♦ 

An hour after, they were sitting side by 
side, his arm encircling her waist, and his 
face radiant with happiness. 

It suddenly clouded, as she said, "I can- 
not be your wife.” 

" But you love me,” he replied ; "you have 
acknowledged it with your own lips.” 

"And I acknowledge it again,” she said. 

My life has been so lonely that I could not 
but welcome such kindness as yours. Since 
I first met you I have lived in a new 
world.” 

Alcey Dunn was too good and generous to 
speak otherwise than truthfully to one who 


378 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


had reposed such unlimited confidence in her. 
She had long known that the days spent in 
his house were the shortest and brightest ; 
but she had not known, until that evening, 

O 7 

how truly she loved him. 

" Why, if you love me, do you refuse to be 
my wife ? ” asked Robert Dalton. " Do you 
fear to trust me ? ” 

r No,” she replied, emphatically. "But I 
promised my mother that nothing should 
come between me and my duty to Jennie. 
She has no one else to care for her.” 

"I really had quite forgotten Jennie,” he 
responded, laughing, relieved to find that 
there was no more serious obstacle to his 
happiness. " You can do more for her as 
my wife than you can possibly do situated 
as you are now. She will, of course, have a 
home with us, and I fancy she will make no 
objections to having me for a brother. So it 
is settled,” he added, sealing his words with 
kisses upon brow and lips. 

Do my readers wonder if no doubt of the 
sincerity of his reformation crossed her mind ? 


OUT OF TIIE FIRE. 


n-7A 

O i J 

Did she not hesitate to place her happiness 
in his keeping? 

She did not then. She could not doubt 
with his eyes looking into hers, and his heart 
beating against her own. But when she was 

O O 

alone there came misgivings. Had she acted 

O O 

wisely ? What would be her fate should he 
relapse into his former habits? 

The night waned while such thoughts 
agitated her. The morning dawned, but 

O O' 

brought no rest. Even the caresses of her 
sister failed to cheer her. She was taking 
counsel of prudence, who is often a stern 
monitor. 

Unfortunately, as it then seemed to her, 
she was to spend the clay at Mr. Dalton’s, 
and Jennie was to accompany her. The first 
glance at her face assured Rhoda Smith that 
she was suffering either in mind or body, 
although she took up the sewing and en- 
deavored to appear interested. 

"My head aches,” she said, at length, find- 
ing it impossible to work. 

"You shall go to mv room and lie down,” 


380 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


said her friend. " I knew when you came in 
that you were not able to work.” 

"It will be better for me to go home,” was 
the reply. " I can take the work with me 
and finish it there.” 

Khoda would not listen to this, and after 
much persuasion Alcey consented to lie down 
for an hour or two. Jennie was troubled 
when she returned from her visit to the 
house-keeper’s room, and found that her 
sister was not in her accustomed place. 
" She has looked as though she was £oin£ to 
cry ever since she waked up this morning,” 
said the child. 

Rhoda had not been blind to her cousin’s 
interest in Alcey Dunn ; and, supposing that 
he had spent the previous evening with her, 
she considered him, in some way, responsi- 
ble for her apparent unhappiness. 

At the breakfast-table he had seemed in 
jubilant spirits, but at dinner, missing the 
bright face he had expected to see, he looked 
serious. 

In answer to his inquiries, Jennie told him 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


381 


that sister had such a headache she was unable 
to work. 

The pain must have been contagious, for 
he soon complained of a headache himself, 
and Rhoda laughingly declared that she was 
fearful of suffering in the same way. She 
thought she was beginning to understand 
something of the true state of things. 

Jennie was invited to the library when 
dinner was over, and soon after she was by 
the side oflior sister, holding a note which 
had been oent by Mr. Dalton. 

While deliberating what reply to make to 
this, Rhoda came in, bringing a cup of tea 
and some light food. " You must eat, drink, 
and be merry ^ she said. " Jennie, } r ou can 
go down and entertain Mr. Dalton, while I 
attend to your sister, and see that she obeys 
orders.” 

" He said I was to wait and take back an 
answer to hm note,” replied the child; "and 
he looked so sorry, I don’t like to go without.” 

Alcey covered her face with her hands, 
crushing the note, and concealing her tears. 


382 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


Jennie was astonished at this, and still 
more, when told to say to Mr. Dalton that 
her sister was in no condition to reply to his 
note. She did not need to be dismissed the 
third time, although her own eyes were dewy 
as she closed the door, and went slowly down 
the stairs. 

"I cannot take what you have been so kind 
as to bring me,” said Alcey, making an effort 
to speak calmly. ”1 am feeling better, and 
shall soon be we\\ if you will allow me to go 
home. ” 

" I will certainly allow you to go if you 
desire it, and will order the carriage at once,” 
said Rhoda, uncertain what she ought to do 
or sav. 

" It is not necessary to do that. If some 
one will call Jennie, I shall soon be ready,” 
replied Alcey, rising from the bed and com- 
mencing to arrange her disordered dress. " I 
hope you will pardon me for making you so 
much trouble,” she added, directly. 

fr I should not be troubled if I could do 
anything to make you less unhappy,” said 


OUT OF TTIE FIRE. 


383 


Rlioda. " I cannot see why you will be bet- 
ter off at home than here, unless you choose 
to be entirely alone, and fear that I shall 
intrude.” 

Just then Jennie’s step was heard, and 
she opened the door to say that Mr. Dalton 
wished to see Miss Smith in the library. 

There was no delay in answering this sum- 
mons. She stopped only to assure herself 
that Alcey would not leave during her ab- 
sence, and then hastened to meet her cousin, 
He was pacing the floor with hurried steps, 
but stopped as she entered, and turned 
towards her a pale, anxious face. "Cousin 
Rhoda,” he said, extending both hands to 
clasp hers, " do you believe a good, pure 
woman could ever be happy with such a 
wretch as I have been ? ” 

This question was so abruptly and unex- 
pectedly asked, that, for a moment, she was 
unable to reply. "I believe a good woman 
could be happy with such a man as you are 
now,” she said at length. 

"I know you trust me, but would any one 


384 


OUT OF THE FIEE. 


else? I love Alcey Dunn,” he exclaimed, 
f love her with my whole heart, and to live 
without her would be worse than death. I 
have told her this, and I know she loves me 
in return, though not as I love her. I have 
no right to expect that. I did not intend to 
speak of this at present,” he added, in a less 
excited tone ; P but she is unhappy, and I 
must know the cause. Perhaps she fears to 
trust me. It would not be strange if she did : 
but I love her as few women are ever loved, 
and would devote my life to her happiness.” 

Ehoda trusted her cousin implicitly, and 
loved him with a true, sisterly love which 
prompted her to seek his happiness in all 
things, "It will be best for you to see Alcey 
and talk with her,” she said. "If she loves 

you, she will, at least, give you her confi- 
dence.” 

"Can I see her?” he asked, quickly 

" I think so,” she replied, and went from 
the room. 

Alcey Dunn was now ready to go home. 
"Cousin Robert wishes to see you before you 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


385 


go/’ said Rhoda. " You will find him in the 
library.” 

The young girl looked at her friend as 
though seeking to read her thoughts, and 
replied, "I think he must excuse me, I can- 
not talk with him now.” 

"Then you must tell him so. I am not 
willing to return with such a message. You 
need not fear to trust him. You could not 
have a truer friend.” 

This decided her. She knew she could 
trust the speaker, and, bidding Jennie remain 
where she was, went down. Her light foot- 
fall caught the ear of him who was waiting, 
and he met her at the door. 

No words were needed to assure him that 
his suspicions were correct. There was a 

sorrowful tenderness in her look which be- 

• 

trayed the struggle between feeling and judg- 
ment. She took his hand, but shrank from 
the caresses he longed to bestow. Something 
iii her manner awed him, and he waited for 
her to speak. 

Both were standing, and the silence was 

25 


386 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


becoming oppressive, when he drew forward 
a chair and begged her to be seated. 

ff Thank you, I must not stay,” she found 
voice to reply ; but the effort to say this 
seemed to quite overpower her, and she was 
obliged to accept the seat she had before 
refused. 

Robert Dalton’s tongue was now loosed, 
and he implored her to tell him the cause of 
her evident unhappiness. Her woman’s na- 
ture yielded. She wept, but her head was 
pillowed upon his breast, and he kissed away 
her tears. 

"You have not told me why you are so 
sad,” he said, at length. 

" How can I ? ” she murmured. " And yet 
I must, for all my doubts will return when 
you are away.” 

He spared her the necessity, anticipating 
all she would say, and replying without a 
word of reproach. He did not blame her, 
certainly not, when she told him how her 
early home had been darkened by the grief 
of her parents for an erring son. 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


387 


" He was not my mother’s child,” she said ; 
" but he was very dear to her, and she would 
have made any sacrifice to save him. It was 
through his dissipation that we became poor. 
Father spent most of his property for him, 
hoping to induce him to reform ; but mother 
never complained of this. 

"At last he was taken sick and no one 
thought he would live. When there was a 
change in his symptoms, the physician or- 
dered brandy to be given as a stimulant. I 
shall never forget mv father’s looks as he 
asked if something else would not produce 
the same effect. 'Nothing,’ replied the phy- 
sician. 'Then it will be better for him to 
die,’ said father, after a moment’s consider- 
ation.” 

Alcey paused after relating this incident, 
but soon resumed her story. "I ought to 
have said before, that during his sickness 
brother Albert seemed penitent for his past 
life, and often asked my mother’s forgive- 
ness for the unhappiness he had caused her. 
He had always been a wayward boy, but he 


388 


OUT OF THE FIFE. 


pledged himself to refrain from all intoxicat- 
ing drinks if he should recover. Father told 
him what the physician had said in regard to 
brandy. ' I can’t take it,’ he whispered. 'It 
would be better for us all that I should die, 
and perhaps that might not save me.’ He 
died that night,” she added. "Father lived 
but six months after, and then mother was 
left alone with Jennie and me. All the rel- 
atives blamed father so much for having spent 
his property for Albert, that mother preferred 
not to go back to them, and we lived by our- 
selves as well as we could." 

Here her companion interrupted her, being 
unwilling that she should pain herself by re- 
calling her more recent sorrow. 

After all she had suffered, how could he 
expect her to put confidence in one who, 
by his own confession, had been far worse 
than the brother whose untimely death she 
mourned. 

He could only assure her of his undying 
affection, and his firm purpose with God’s 
help to persevere in his life of abstinence. 


OUT OF THE FIItE. 


389 


"It is more than two years since, alone 
with God, I pledged myself to this,” he said. 

I have been able thus far to withstand all 
temptation.” 

Most young girls in the position of Alcey 
Dunn would have been dazzled by the offer 
of such a home as was opened to her. Per- 
haps in all his "acquaintance there was not 
another who would have bestowed a thought 
upon his past life, had she been asked to be- 
come the wife of Robert Dalton. 

His wealth was sufficient to render him 
universally popular, setting aside his attrac- 
tions of person and appearance. But here 
was one to whom his money seemed of small 
consideration. She could appreciate the ele- 
gances of a luxurious home ; but they could 
never compensate for the want of moral 
integrity in him to whom she must look for 
her happiness. 

Jennie grew weary of waiting ; yet re- 
fused to lay aside her hat, lest she might 
not be ready when sister came. Two hours 
passed before she appeared, and then she 


390 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 

&s iii no haste to go. Finally, they went 
home in the carriage, its owner accompanying 
them, and this rewarded Jennie for the trial 
of her patience. The wooing thus com- 
menced sped rapidly, although doubts would 
sometimes intrude to mar the peace of our 
young friend. These, however, were grad- 
ually dispelled as she became better ac- 
quainted with her lover, and saw how truly 
he was actuated by Christian principle. 

The last month before her marriage was 
spent in the house which was to be her future 
home. Here Ehoda Smith helped her to 
sustain the ordeal of questions to which she 
was subjected by some of her patrons, assur- 
ing them that her engagement there was for 
an indefinite length of time. 

The wedding was very quiet, and there 
were neither tears nor partings to sadden it. 

Mrs. Fulton’s aristocratic notions were 
greatly shocked to think that her nephew 
should marry a dress-maker, when he might 
have formed an alliance with one of the first 
families in the city. Her pride was also 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


391 


wounded in another direction. She had a 
daughter, four years the junior of her wealthy 
cousin, and she had hoped he might install 
her mistress in the old mansion. 

The object of these criticisms was too 
thoroughly happy to care for what was said, 
and, when the young couple returned from 
their wedding tour, there was no lack of con- 
gratulations. Mrs. Dalton was a beautiful 
bride, and wore her new honors wdth becom- 
ing modesty. 

Khoda Smith was nearly as happy as the 
bridegroom himself. This match was one 
after her own heart. Yet, about a mouth 
after the marriage, just as the bud and bloom 
of summer were beginning to beautify the 
earth, she astonished her cousin by propos- 
ing to return to the country, and find a home 
at Mr. Gray’s. 

"A home at Mr. Gray’s !” he exclaimed. 
" This is your home. I thought you were 
happy here.” 

"And so I am,” she replied; "but it doer 
not seem my place now. Your wife an< 


392 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


Jennie are sufficient company for you, and I 
am doing no good here.” 

" Other people may think differently,” he 
said. ” You had better talk with Alcey 
about it, and hear what she will say. I shall 
never consent to such an arrangement unless 
convinced that your happiness demands it.” 
Alcey did not wait to be consulted. At 
the first intimation from her husband that 
Rhoda thought of leaving them, she went to 
her, and protested against any such plan. 
"You were my first friend here,” she said, 
" and I depend greatly upon your judgment. 
A few weeks ago you said there was room 
enough for us all, and we would be a model 
family upon which the sun would delight to 
shine.” 

Jennie was distressed at the very idea of 
losing Aunt Rhoda, as she had learned to call 
her. Mrs. Hawthorne did not hesitate to say 
that it would be a disgrace to the whole fam- 
ily if master’s niece was allowed to leave the 
house. If she chose to marry, and settle iu 
another home, there was nothing to be said ; 


OUT OF THU FIRE. 


393 


but the idea of going back to the country was 
too preposterous to be entertained. 

A compromise was effected. Her cousin 
had neither the wish nor the right to control 
her movements, but he proposed that she 
should visit her friends during the summer, 
and return to the city in the autumn. " Per- 
haps we will all go up for a week or two, by 
and by, if Mrs. Gray will receive us.” 

Pli o da’s preparations were hastened by the 
fact that her cousin would accompany her, 
for the greater part of the journey, if she 
could be ready within a few days. He had 
business in that direction which demanded 
immediate attention. 

I must not linger over the incidents of this 
visit. My readers are already so well ac- 
quainted with the family of Mr. Gray that 
they can easily imagine the cordial welcome 
which awaited their friend, and the bright 
days which followed. 

Judson Gray was now sixteen years of age, 
tall, robust, and manly, rendering great assist- 
ance to his father, yet having no taste for 


394 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


the life of a farmer. lie loved books, and it 
was his great desire to obtain a liberal educa- 
tion. This matter was under consideration 
when Rhoda Smith made her second visit, 
and she was immediately taken into confi- 
dence, and consulted in regard to it. 

< — ' 

Mr. Gray was not a wealthy man, although 
he lived honestly and generously. The in- 
come of his farm provided for the wants of 
his family; but he could hardly afford the 
expense of a college course for his son, while 
doing justice to his other children. 

Judson talked of " working his way ; ” but 
hib father would not hear to it. He insisted 
that he would need his whole time and 
strength for study, and that a cultivated 
mind with a broken-down body was of small 
value. 

Aunt Rhoda came to the rescue. She 
found Judson one day dreaming by the cold 
spring, and asked how long it would take 
him to fit for college. 

"Two or three years,” he answered. "I 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


395 


might possibly be fitted in two years, if I had 
my whole time for study/’ 

" What would be your expenses for a 
year? ” 

The boy had calculated these, many times, 
and was able to reply without hesitation. 

"Is that all?” she asked, astonished at the 
smallness of the sum. 

" I could live on that,” was his reply. 
w At any rate, I should be willing to try, if I 
had the opportunity.” 

"Then get ready as fast as you can, and 
the money shall be forthcoming.” 

"Did father tell you so?” he asked. 

" He has told me nothing about it ; but I 
have told you . I will pay the expenses of 
your education myself.” 

" But — ” commenced the boy, hardly know- 
ing how to reply. 

" There are no buts in the case,” said his 
companion, interrupting him. " You wish to 
go to school, and I wish to send you. Help 
your father through haying, and by that time 


396 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


your clothes shall be in readiness to leave 
home.’’ 

Having said this, she left the spring, and 
walked towards the house. Half an hour 
after, when Mr. Gray entered the room 
where she was sitting, she told him she had 
been making an agreement with his son 
which she hoped he would ratify. 

" Judson has told me,” he replied. "You 
are very generous ; but it does not seem right 
for you to do this. I have been thinking to- 

o 

day, that I would try to meet the expense 
myself.” 

"Let me do it,” responded Ehoda, ear- 
nestly. "It will be a great pleasure to me. 
I wish to feel that I am doing some good in 
the world.” 

Mr. Gray made some objections, urging 
that her own wants should be first considered. 

In reply to this, she told him what prop- 
erty had been left to her by her uncle, and 
the income she derived from it. " You see it 
will not require the least self-denial on my 
part,” she said, in conclusion ; and the matter 


OUT OF TIIE FIRE. 


397 


was settled, as bad been usual in the family, 
by allowing her to have her own way. He 
also conceded her the privilege of performing 
this generous act without her agency being 
publicly known. 

Ehoda Smith had been in the country but a 
few days, when she rode over toiler cousin’s, 

and found them more comfortably situated 

• 

than she had expected. Their house was 
completed, with the exception of some upper 
rooms, which were not needed for immediate 
use. There was some new furniture, neat, 
though inexpensive, which gave an air of 
thrift and comfort to the home. 

But greatest treasure of all was the baby, 
during whose short life only four moons had 
waxed and waned. She lay in her wicker 
cradle, and cooed sweet music for the mother’s 
ears. 

" I believe there never was another such a 
baby as this,” said Samantha, exhibiting her 
darling; and the visitor was soon ready to 
express the same belief. 

Reuben regarded his child with a mingling 


398 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


of pride and tenderness which was really 
touching to behold. " Rather guess we 
shall call the baby Rhody," he said to his 
cousin. 

The laugh with which this announcement 
was received startled the speaker from his 
usual gravity. "What is the matter?" he 
asked. 

" Such a name, for such a child," was the 
reply. 

"Thought the name was a good one," said 
Reuben. 

" It is good enough, but not pretty enough 
for this blue-eyed baby. It suits me very 
well, and is an old name in my Grandmother 
Dalton’s family." 

" Guess we’ll let you find a name to suit 
yourself then." 

"You might call her Amy. That would 
suit her exactly." 

"So it would," said Samantha, " and per- 
haps she will be as good as Amy Hill." 

"Amy Hill Smith." The infant smiled as 
the name was repeated, and raised her hands 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


399 


to her father’s face, while two tear-drops fell 
upon the pure white brow. 

" It is wonderful how that man has 
changed,” said Aunt Lizzie the next day, 
as Rhoda spoke of her cousin. " Since that 
child was born he seems to feel a new re- 
sponsibility.” 

"He is doing well,” said her son. "No 
man could do better, and I believe he is a 
true Christian.” 

"There is no doubt of that,” replied Rhoda. 
" He never could pray as he did last night, if 
he were not. Samantha told me they were 
both to join the church at the next com- 
munion.” 

"Yes, and Dexter Rollins and his wife join 
with them; so there are two families saved. 
Lang has no hope of getting them back as 
customers. He says he don’t want any pray- 
ing folks about him.” 

o 

"He is not likely to have them,” responded 
Aunt Lizzie. "Praving and rum-drinking 
are not often found together in thes<£ days.” 

Rhoda was exceedingly anxious that Amy 


400 


OUT OF THE FIEE. 


Hill should see her namesake ; but she was 
forced to content herself with giving a de- 

O o 

scription of the child, upon whom it was ex- 
pected her mantle of goodness would fall. 
Samantha did not feel willing to leave home 
while so much needed to be done. 

The first thing which attracted Rhoda 
Smith’s attention, when she entered Mrs. 
Lunt’s cottage, was an easy-chair of an en- 
tirely new construction. " It was my Christ- 
mas present from Mr. Rollins,” said Amy. 
f ‘ He made it himself, and his wife covered it. 
I told him it was too good to stand in our 
kitchen and be used every day ; but he said 
that was just what he made it for. I sit in it 
all day, and hardly feel tired. Everybody is 
kind to me, and I have so little to give in re- 

turn. I should sometimes feel burdened if I 

# 

could not pray for my friends.” 

There were some new books upon the little 
stand. "Our good minister brought them,” 
replied Amy to a remark made by her friend. 

” He thinks I should have a variety to occupy 
my time and thoughts. I always loved to 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


401 


read, but my supply of books has been small. 
Now, I seem to want for nothing.” 

Thus, through the day there were grateful 
acknowledgments of kindness ; and in the 
afternoon, when the good minister himself 
came in, and offered a prayer in her behalf, 
her heart seemed lifted quite above the earth. 

Mr. Ashley, the clergyman, was very glad 
to meet Rhoda Smith, whom he had before 
seen, and of whom he had heard so much. 
He had formed an acquaintance with her 
uncle the previous summer, and having then 
conversed with him upon the most moment- 
ous of all subjects, he was interested to learn 
the particulars of his death. 

This visit, with others which had preceded 
it, was numbered with the past, and Rhoda 
drove homeward, feeling that she had spent 
the day profitably as well as pleasantly. Her 
principal interest being at Mr. Gray’s, she 
returned there, even while her cousins felt 
that she wronged them by leaving so soon. 

A letter was soon received announcing the 
coming of Robert Dalton, with his wife and 


402 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


sister, and, four days after, Amos, in a state 
of great excitement, reported that he could 
see "a span of horses and a big carriage 
only a little ways off.” 

The gentleman was welcomed as an old 
friend, and his charming wife soon made a 
place for herself in the hearts of those to 
whom she had come as a stranger. Jennie 

O 

had been described and talked of until the 
children felt acquainted with her ; so that 
their meeting was free from all restraint. 

During the next three weeks, work and 
amusement were so thoroughly blended in 
this home, that it would have been difficult 
to draw a dividing line between the two. 
Rhoda took the cooking into her own hands, 
and then found herself surrounded with so 
many assistants, that her office was a mere 
sinecure. Alcey Jennie, Elsie and Mattie 
all went to her for orders, while Mrs. Gray 
was advised to keep out of the confusion. 

Mrs. Dalton drove over with Rhoda to see 
Amy Hill, and spent a delightful hour at her 
side, each charmed with the other. 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


403 


Three weeks passed like a dream, bringing 
the hoar of departure all too soon. Rhoda, 
alone, remained, and set to work in good 
earnest to prepare an outfit for her boy, as 
she laughingly called Judson. No one who 
saw her thus engaged would have doubted 
that it was a pleasure, so nimbly flew her 
fingers, and so happy was the smile which 
illumined her face. 

When everything was completed and packed 
in the trunk, which had been brought ex- 
pressly for the young student, his father 
started with him for the academy, about forty 
miles distant, where he was to go through his 
preparatory course. Then the house seemed 
desolate indeed, even after Mr. Gray’s re- 
turn, and Rhoda prolonged her stay far into 
the autumn. 

" I am sure you belong to us now,” said 
Elsie, as she tried to persuade Aunt Rhoda 
to make her permanent home with them ; but, 
despite her entreaties, and those of her par- 
ents, Christmas found their old friend in the 
city. 


404 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


James Barton and Debby Butters were not 
the only children whose homes were bright- 
ened this year, by the generosity of Robert 
Dalton and his wife. They dispensed their 
favors right royally, imitating the example of 
the great Master. 

James Barton had been permanently pro- 
vided for, by giving him a situation in the 
store, with such wages as enabled him to as- 
sist his widowed mother. Debby Batters 
and her grandmother were living in pleasant 
rooms, where the child’s health was rapidly 
improving. Rhoda no longer complained of 
idleness. She had sufficient to occupy hands 
and heart, and with each year, with interests 
in country and city, the number of her duties 
and pleasures increased. She developed into 
a noble Christian woman, using her wealth 
for the good of those about her. Old animos- 
ities were buried, and the world, which had 
once seemed to her so dark and dreary, was 
now a field for labor, yielding a rich harvest of 
happiness to those who sow with a liberal 
hand. 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


405 


Clement Foster, standing alone in the 
moonlight, was the first character introduced 
to my readers, and, after the lapse of eight 
years, he again claims our attention. Most 
of the time, since Elsie placed a " light in the 
window for him” that winter evening, he 
had resided in a distant town, with an uncle 
who offered him better advantages than his 
father could afford to give him. 

Whenever he visited home he was often 
at Mr. Gray’s, coming and going as one sure 
of a welcome. He was fine-looking, genial 
in his manners, and agreeable in conversa- 
tion. These qualities, combined with good 
business talents, made his success in life al- 
most certain. 

Of his principles little was known, and, in- 
deed, but little thought had been bestowed 
upon them. An occasional visitor, upon his 
best behavior, if he had gross faults they 
were well concealed. At the age of twenty- 
two his father died, and, being an only child, 
it was necessary that he should remain with 
his mother for a few months, and settle her 


406 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


business. This gave him an opportunity for 
prosecuting his acquaintance at Mr. Gray’s. 
It was soon apparent that Elsie was the ob- 
ject of his special attention, and that her 
childish preference for the handsome, gallant 
boy was fast ripening into a sincere affection 
for the attractive young man. 

Her father then began to study his char- 
acter more closely, and was soon convinced 
that it was far different from what he should 
choose in a son-in-law. He found that his 
habits were not strictly temperate ; and this 
alone was sufficient to condemn him. 

He reported this to his wife, who, in turn, 
communicated it to Elsie. It produced, how- 
ever, a far different result from what was ex- 
pected. 

"Aunt Ehoda has been telling you that,” 
she exclaimed, forgetting, in her excitement, 
the respect due to her mother. 

" She has said nothing to me about it,” 
was the reply. " Your father told me, and 
he wished you to know it.” 

This called forth a flood of tears, but did 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


407 


not seem to weaken her confidence in Clem- 
ent. 

In a few days Judson came home, and, with 
better opportunities for judging the young 
man, at once pronounced him on the wrong 
track. He talked with his sister plainly, 
telling her what he had seen and heard, and 
imploring her to break off an acquaintance 
which could only bring unhappiness. She 
could not doubt her brother’s words, and 
they really seemed to have some influence ; 
but the next time she met Clement Foster, 
he found means to reinstate himself in her 
good opinion. 

Mattie, who was soon to be married to a 
worthy young man, with whom she had be- 
come acquainted while away at school, rea- 
soned with Elsie, urging her, at least, to bind 
herself by no promises. 

It hod a, who was making her annual visit, 
knowing it would be useless for her to inter- 
fere, wisely forbore giving any advice ; but 
she proposed that Elsie should spend the 
winter with her in the city. 


408 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


Mattie having left her, it was a great pri- 
vation for the mother to spare her last daugh- 
ter from home ; yet she consented, hoping 
new scenes might turn her thoughts in a new 
direction. 

This visit only made her final decision 
more certain. She was charmed with the 
noise and bustle of the streets, so different 
from her quiet, country home, and the fact 
that Clement Foster was to settle in a large 
town made a union with him seem desirable. 

But over and above all else was her love 
for him ; not an ennobling love, founded 
upon esteem for moral worth and goodness, 
but a strange infatuation, blinding the eyes to 
all defects in its object. Had she considered 
calmly and dispassionately the facts brought 
to her notice, she would have been convinced 
that Clement Foster was no mate for her. 

This she would not do, and, finding that 
further opposition would result in evil rather 
than good, her friends ceased to remonstrate. 

At twenty she was married, and left her 
father’s house a happy bride. At twenty- 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


409 


five she was a drunkard's wife, and the moth- 
er of three children, who were worse than 
fatherless. 

It seemed a rapid descent, but the down- 
ward career had been commenced before 
marriage. Elsie soon discovered this, and 
expostulated tearfully. She had miscalcu- 
lated the man with whom she had to deal. 
He would not even listen to her. Arbitrary 
and selfish, consulting only his own ease and 
gratification, he had no regard for her hap- 
piness. The only possibility of peace was 
in submitting, without a murmur, to his 
caprices and dictation. 

Upon this point her brother had particu- 
ularly warned her ; but she could not believe 
that one who then lavished upon her such 
extravagant expressions of endearment could 
ever command her sternly, enforcing his 
commands almost with blows. 

Ilis mother had died, thus leaving his 
father’s property entirely in his hands, to be 
squandered in reckless dissipation. No busi- 
ness could prosper in such hands, and he 


410 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


became deeply involved in debt. This only 
made him more reckless, and he often failed 
to provide for the daily wants of his family. 

During the first two or three years of her 
marriage Elsie’s friends visited her ; but their 
presence was so disagreeable to her husband, 
who was at no pains to conceal his feelings* 
that they thought best to avoid meeting him. 
She, meanwhile, had not been to her father’s 
house ; one excuse after another had been 
urged to prevent, until she was so burdened 
with care and grief she had no wish to visit 
the home of her childhood. Her life would 
have seemed more wretched by contrast, and 
she could not bear an added drop. 

She seldom wrote home, but, through an 
acquaintance residing in the same town, her 
brother heard of her destitution, and imme- 
diately went home to his father’s to consult 
what was best to be done. 

Judson was then settled as pastor over a 
large and flourishing church, repaying by his 
eloquent sermons, and still more eloquent 
life, the expenses of his education. YV ith 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


411 


Aunt Rhocla he was the king of preachers, 
while she was a welcome ancl honored guest, 
whenever she could be induced to tarry be- 
neath his roof. 

Fortunately he found her at his father’s, 
and she offered to go to Elsie’s herself, and 
see what could be done. He proposed ac- 
companying her to the town, and stopping at 
a hotel, where he would be in readiness to 
assist in carrying out any plan which might 
be devised for the relief of his sister. 

They set off at once, and, when they reached 
their destination, found it necessary to obtain 
directions to her place of residence. Rho- 
cla went alone to the house, a one-story di- 
lapidated dwelling, on the outskirts of the 
village, and there, in a scantily furnished 
room, she found the mother with her three 
children, the youngest but a few weeks old. 

" Aunt Rhoda ! ” shrieked the poor wom- 
an, as she threw herself into the arms of her 
friend. "Thank God, you have come ! We 
are starving ! ” 

A glance around the room was misinter- 


412 


OUT OF THE FIUE. 


preted. " He has gone for the day,” she said. 
"He will not be back until late at night; so 
there is no fear of him now.” 

The wailing of her infant recalled her at- 
tention, and, as she pressed it to her breast, 
she exclaimed, f ' Oh, if I had listened to my 
friends, I should never have been in this 
wretched condition ! O Aunt Rhoda, take 
me away, and never let me look upon him 
ao'ain ! He struck me this morning, when 
I asked him for some food, and we are starv- 
mg. 

"Starving!” repeated the listener, hardly 
comprehending the meaning of that dreadful 
word. 

"Yes, starving,” was the reply. "Iam so 
o’] ad vou have come. Will you take me 
away?” asked Elsie, piteously. 

"That is what I came for,” replied Rhoda, 
"and, when I have brought you something to 
eat, we will talk about it.” 

She stayed for nothing more, but hastened 
back to report to Judson. He was waiting 
impatiently, and met her in the hall. " Take 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


413 


your hat and come with me,” she said. "I 
will tell you of Elsie as we go along.” 

"Dreadful ! Dreadful ! ” he exclaimed, as 
he heard of her condition. "Who would 
have dreamed that such a fate awaited our 
darling Elsie ! ” 

Food was brought for the starving family. 
Elsie, watching for the return of Aunt 
Rhoda, saw her brother as they turned 
towards the house, and uttered a cry of joy. 
She would have gone out, but her children 
were clinging to her dress. 

Rhoda entered first, and, taking the babe 
from its mother’s arms, managed to still its 
cries, while the older children were attracted 
by the tempting biscuits which were placed 
before them. 

The sight quite unmanned the brother, who 
had looked on many scenes of distress, and 
thought he had learned to control his feel- 
ings. He folded his sister in his arms, — that 
sister, so changed he would hardly have 
recognized her, — and the hot tears fell upon 
her upturned face. He held her as he had 


414 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


often clone in the happy years gone by, while 
she wept unrestrainedly as a child. 

r O Judson, dear, dear brother, take me, 
and never let me see him again ! Will 
you?” she asked, quickly. 

"Yes, Elsie, dear, I will take you home.” 
"Then let us go to-day, before he comes 
back, or — ” She finished the sentence with 
a shudder. "Aunt Rhoda, please to give me 
some bread, I am*so humnw.” 

The bread was given her, and then Rhoda 
desired her to be seated in a chair while J ud- 
son made a fire. "You must have a cup of 
tea,” she said. 

When this was ready, she looked about to 
see what packing needed to be done ; and, 
after a short consultation, it was decided 
that only some clothing should be taken. 
Everything of value had been sold long be- 
fore, and one trunk was sufficient to contain 
all that was worth carrying. 

Judson made arrangements to have Rhoda, 
with his sister and her children, carried to 
the next town that afternoon, while he re- 


OUT OF THE FIUE. 


415 


mainecl to meet Clement Foster. When they 
had started, he walked hack to the hotel, 
feeling that one part of his mission had been 
successfully accomplished. 

At evening he returned to the deserted 
house. One, two, three hours passed, and 
the village clock struck twelve, when an un- 
steady step was heard, and he went out to 
confront one who had been his playmate and 
friend, but who was now his avowed enemy. 

The interview was short and decisive. 
Judson Gray told his companion that his 
wife and children had left him, never to re- 
turn, unless there should be an entire change 
in his conduct. 

Too much excited to reply, Clement Fos- 
ter rushed into the house, to assure himself 
that what he had heard was true. He was 
violent, at first, swearing that he would bring 
back Elsie, let the consequences be what 
they might. But he gradually retreated from 
this position, and listened in silence to the 
firm, uncompromising words of his brother- 
in-law. 


416 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


We will not follow the wretched man to 
his lonely dwelling, as he flung back the ad- 
vice he received with a curse. 

The victim of his cruelty and neglect was 
safe. Eagerly she welcomed her brother the 
next morning, and heard the joyful news that 
her slavery (for by no milder term could her 
life be called) was at an end. 

Home again weary and fainting ; her chil- 
dren weak and puny. She begged the for- 
giveness of her parents for disregarding their 
counsel, promising to do anything if diey 
would but give her a shelter. 

It was a sad return, — too sad to have been 
borne but for the kindness and energy of 
lihoda Smith. She took the children under 
her care, and, if it had been possible for them 
to gain health and strength, they would have 
done so, under her management. 

Elsie was glad to leave them in her hands, 
and it soon became a necessity. She was 
taken sick, sinking into a kind of lethargy, 
from which it was difficult to rouse her. She 
seemed to sleep for most of the time ; and it 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


417 


was well that she did, as she was thus spared 
the anguish of witnessing the death of her 
two youngest children. The eldest, with 
more rigor of constitution, rallied from her 
debility, and had become a general favorite 
in the household long before her mother had 
sufficiently recovered to give her any partic- 
ular attention. 

Clement Foster’s name was never men- 
tioned in the family, and all allusion to him 
wps carefully avoided. Judson Gray, how- 
ever, kept himself advised of his movements. 
Through a third person he made an effort to 
reclaim him, but, failing in this, he was not 
surprised, at the end of two years, to hear of 
his death. 

Elsie was then free, and she made no pre- 
tence of mourning for one whom she had 
long ceased to love, and whose very name 
was a terror. After this she regained some- 
thing of her natural vivacity, and, when time 
had dimmed the memory of her unhappy ex- 
perience, she gave her hand to one worthy 

of a true woman’s love. 

27 


418 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


Iii all these years the intercourse between 
the families of Mr. Gray and Robert Dalton 
was that of well-tried friends. In the city 
home of the latter, there were bright, beauti- 
ful children, wisely and lovingly trained to 
choose the good and avoid the evil. The 
father, than whom there was no happier man, 
universally respected and esteemed, had ban- 
ished from the minds of those around him all 
memory of his youthful vices. 

Thomas Hawthorne and his wife were 2fet- 

O 

ting to be elderly people, yet they retained 
their position, more devoted, if possible, to 
the interests of their employers than when 
they were younger. Paul Romare had en- 
tirely vanished from sight, until one evening, 
when Thomas, visiting a sick man, as almoner 
of his master’s bounty, learned that another 
sufferer was lying in an adjoining room. 
There, in the last stages of consumption, des- 
titute of every comfort necessary to one in 
his condition, he found the gambler. 

The next day Robert Dalton knelt by the 
bedside of the dying man, and commended 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


419 


his soul to that God who has compassion on 
the chief of sinners. 

" Can you forgive me? ” asked Romare, in 
a hoarse whisper, when the prayer was ended. 

I have sinned enough,” he added, after being 
assured that all was pardoned. " I am thank- 
ful that I have not your soul to answer for. 
May God forgive my many sins ! ” 

With these words upon his lips he died. 
The expenses of a respectable burial were 
paid by Robert Dalton, and he, with a few 
others, followed the poor body to its last 
resting-place. 

And Aunt Rhoda, — what of her? 

She lived to a good old age, unmarried, 
choosing as she said, with something of the 
old spirit, to live her own life, in her own 
way, yet by a large circle of younger friends 
she was loved and honored scarcely less than 
a mother. 

It was her hand that wiped the death-damp 
from the brow of Amy Hill when her pure 
spirit struggled for release from its earthly 


420 


OUT OF THE FIRE. 


tenement, and it was her influence and assist- 
ance which helped to make the second Amy 
Hill worthy of the name she bore : — 


“ Of out the fires of shame and sin, 
God is able to garner in 
A glorious harvest of souls ” 


THE END. 






















> A 
♦ -V 





*' ^ 0 0 

v « - >v 



,* .V- A 


^ **#,-.*' .<ft 



\ « < v** 

* & %• • 


<r. 


VX 4 *^ 


o V 


'* ”W 


rl °* - 


V *••'' 'U 

• *> ^ ; m - *• 
: vv 


: j 


or . . . . 


4 °* 


'U 


V’ % 


° *° ’* <@pav 

• / V^'V 

<y * * * °^ ^ v , 

^ A* ♦ A%W/Vo ^ ** .* 


» M ° 


^ S' 


1 * aJv V "V 
* V ^ * 


v> ^ 

* ,v ^ ° 


^ c° MO % ^ 


<v : 


y V~ 

' * * 4 

-Cr t * 1 ** ° 

V * 


* nr 


*+$ 


<*<2* - 


*.. ' * rr, • ’ 




® * o ^ v 


I'V 


s s ^ 

* .V *U 


< 


N © 


A, 


’' . . * \0 


A 


<* 


O' * 


<y ,.° * ° + 4 


^ v % <f> ♦ 


VX 




. o 





£ 'V O 




* *’ ^ 'S’ v -* 

*o , A * A 

o j^> • ^ +• *r 

A^ <• < 5 ^Wfc* * ^ 

; *b V* : 

3 ^ / ^v * ' . ■ <• 

^ r^yyiyjf + k .' ^ 








© « O 


’ 0 ' **. **.,,•’ .<$■ o -• 


Vv ^ 

\p A 
^ V 


^ Vv v 

V <& 


\ 



•> 






w 


* *> <* 



** 0 « 


Cy> ° 

^ ^ % ° 

C' ^> - A 

0 ^ t • * ^O A^ ••“•• 

C S&/I77? A. ° ^ % * 


<* 


,4 0 , 


^ r ^ 




> 


A* A 

Jpk 7 8 


» ^ C X '*'«-%• 0 V <*• 

A °^ ■> “ 0 A 0 V. " 1 

V c\ A .!.*_»- > V 

♦ ^ A * 

>v *5 u vv 



°. V a* 


o v 


A ^ 

v <^sN\\\A * *3^ 

o 


i* 




4 O. 

V C? <*> 




